The Pink Ghetto
by misanthrope1
Summary: AU! It's February 1943. Great Britain has fallen to Germany due to treachery. All homosexuals live in a ghetto based in London. Conquered countries and German allies all toss their homosexuals there. This is the Pink Ghetto. Slash/homosexuality
1. Chapter 1

Clouds hung low and thick, a dark grey day, normal enough for January. Wind ripped through my clothes and cobblestones pressed against the worn soles of my boots. I lifted my head, wondering if snow were possible. I hurried towards my flat, eyeballing the Nazi flag hanging from a nearby building. _Bloody Nazis,_ I thought._ The only good thing about this bleeding ghetto is it is in London._ The air smelled faintly of smoke.

I twisted down a narrow alley, only stopping when I heard fighting. I don't get involved in fights, after all they occur daily. This one was right in front of me, the men I saw were idiots who only fought when they heavily outnumbered the victim, and well, I was bloody tired and aching for a fight.

My knife rested along my back, the same knife I had in Stalag 13 a lifetime ago. I pushed through the crowd, not surprised by the smell of alcohol. Some poor black haired sod gasped against the wall of a building. I stepped between him and Johnson. Idiotic johnson, a bully and all around jackass. I grinned when I saw him. He sported a black eyes and obviously broken wrist and several of his colleagues did as well, "Finally lit into someone who could actually fight back, did you, Pauly?" I jeered.

"Sod off, Newkirk!"

"Don't think so, mate. You're on my doorstep. 'Sides, what 'as this bloke done?"

"He's a damn Yank."

That got my back up. Yes, the US government screwed us. Nowhere near as bad as the bloody Irish but still, the US government stabbed us. Yanks weren't well liked. 'Course, I liked the Yanks. Certain ones, at least. "They toss their poofs here like everyone else, Johnson. This poor bloke doesn't 'ave any more choice than us."

"They deserted us."

"Their government did. " I watched Johnson closely. He was dumb but could fight. "Not all Yanks are bad." I heard the man behind me straighten up.

Johnson's face got uglier, a fact I didn't think was possible. "You always were a Yank lover," he sneered. "How many did you blow in that camp?"

I choked down the red hot rage boiling in my throat. "At least I fought. Didn't laze around on my arse."

"You were too busy kissing Nazi ass."

That tore it. I grabbed Johnson's broken wrist and squeezed, making the stupid blighter squeal like the pig he was. "Bugger off before I break every bone in your arm!" I shoved Johnson into his mates and then simply stood there, fingers itching for a gun or at least, my knife. Johnson must have seen I would kill him because he faded away, his friends with him. I watched them leave, speaking over my shoulder. "'Ope you can walk, mate. You can come to my flat to clean up."

"Thanks, Newkirk."

The hair rose on my neck and I whirled around. My heart pounded as Colonel Hogan grinned at me. "Gov'nor!"

* * *

I had to smile at the stunned look on my thief's face. I ignored my aching side and grabbed him into a rough embrace. He held me tight, whispered my name as if in disbelief. "This way," he said, grabbing my hand. He pulled me towards a large bakery, pungent with the smell of bread and rolls. "Come on." he opened a door that revealed a narrow staircase. "I 'ave the flat above the bakery."

I expected something shabby, yet the flat was large and airy and gleamed from a recent scrubbing. Everything shone, spic and span. "Nice." I said,

"Not bad. A palace for the ghetto. I even have hot water most of the time." Newkirk hung up his coat and turned to look at me. He smiled. "Huh. Aren't you the toff?"

I looked down at myself and felt ashamed. I wore a thick wool overcoat and nice slacks as well as new boots and a thick sweater. Newkirk wore a carefully patched shirt, worn jeans, and old boots. Newkirk shook his head at me. "Fighting," he sighed in mock disappointment. "How low class of you, gov." His smile made my own lips quirk. "Let me clean you up. Have a seat."

I glanced around. This flat could be a monument to Spartan living. A tiny table, a few wobbly chairs, a battered sofa, and most likely a ratty mattress in the unseen bedroom. I compared this to Stalag 13 and realized there wasn't a lot of difference. Newkirk brought over a basin of warm water and a bottle of iodine. He cleaned my cuts gently, tsking over my cut knuckles and sponging my cut cheek. "You're going to have a black eye."

"That's OK." I studied Newkirk. Gaunter than I'd ever seen, he also had long shaggy hair. He walked into the kitchenette, came back with rolls. "I work downstairs. These are good."

"Thanks." They were good, multi grain rolls with jam. I also smelled coffee. "Newkirk, no!"

"I have plenty." That I doubted but I drank gratefully. One thing Newkirk did well was make my coffee the way I liked it. Newkirk sipped his. "Why are you here?" he asked. An odd tone made his voice quaver a moment.

"I came to get you." I rubbed my sore jaw. "I knew Americans weren't well liked but not this bad."

"The US government abandoned us," Newkirk said. He didn't seem angry.

"I know. I can't believe we signed that damned treaty,"

"Roosevelt's death, Truman's illness. It's not like the US had to worry about the Nazis anyway." That hurt. He must have seen me flinch because he leaned close. "You didn't sign that treaty." He drank his coffee. "You came for me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I bit back a scream of rage. "Did you think I would leave you here?"

He shrugged, lifting one bony shoulder. "I'm 'ardly in the service anymore," he said.

"I wouldn't leave any of my men here, much less you!"

He smiled then, a surprised smile that took years from his face. Then the smile faded. He inhaled. "I'm not here by mistake, gov."

I nodded. "I know." He jerked with surprise but I had wondered a long time about Newkirk. Sometimes in unguarded moments, I'd seen him glance at others with fleeting moments of desire. He and LeBeau had been close as well. Yet, Newkirk had made moves on every woman he'd seen. And damn, I had wanted Newkirk sometimes. "You being homosexual isn't an excuse for what the Nazis have done." Homosexuals all branded, tattooed. Forced to live in this tiny part of London. Made to wear pink triangles. No contact with non homosexuals except for work or business reasons. Segregated buses.

"I live here, gov, I know."

"Even the Jews live better," I growled.

"They have some rights. We don't."

Newkirk sounded so damn weary. I put down my mug and pulled him into a hug.

He hugged me back, shaking. He smelled faintly of lavender and I felt bones under my hands. "Thank you for rescuing me," I said.

"Anytime."

"I planned on rescuing you."

He smiled sadly,a smile that broke something in me. "How? We're all marked, gov. And unless you're attached to the US embassy here, you can't move around."

"US Air Force- Red Cross laison," I explained, reluctantly letting him go. "I have been thinking. Are there a lot of fighters here?"

"Sure," Newkirk said.

I felt my smile growing. "And they're angry."

"Of course. We all know what 'appened to the German Jews." Newkirk swallowed and I saw the fear in his eyes. "The newcomers don't help with what they tell us. We won't go to the ovens--that's too good for us."

"Russia's still fighting. Doing well, too."

"I know. So are Canada and Australia."

I finished my coffee. "Would these people be willing to fight?"

His eyes widened. "Are you talking an army?"

I smiled again. Damn he was sharp when he wanted to be. "We get through the walls and across the Channel and join the Resistance in France."


	2. Chapter 2

I think my jaw nearly unhinged. "Go through the walls," I repeated dumbly. "Are you bleedin' crackers?! Those walls are guarded!"

Hogan stared at me calmly. "I know," he said. "I need to study the walls. And talk to the people here."

"Should I start listing all the insane faults with your idea?" Fury filled me. My God, I knew Hogan was insane but this! He merely gave me that funny smile I both hated and loved.

"Go ahead." He sat, eyes bright just like my dreams. I glared at him.

"First, gov, and this is huge. You're a Yank. Most of us don't care for Americans at all unless they're one of us. Do you honestly think people here will listen to you? Second, the towers are heavily armed. Third, we don't fit in. We're tattooed and branded. If anyone spots those marks, we are bloody screwed. Fourth, most of us can't swim the Channel. Fifth, where are we going to get guns? Or are we using rocks?"

Hogan stretched out his hands. "Easy, Newkirk. I do have some plans. I know where we can get boats. Guns, well, we can go to a couple places that I'm sure you know. The brands and tattoos can be covered and hidden. Tricky but doable. First thing to do is scout the area. Then we recruit." He smiled and I felt my heart start beating faster. I'd cared for him for a long time. _I loved him. _ I firmly told that part of me to shut up. It had been a while since Stalag 13 and I wasn't the same. Add in the fact that love is a bloody mixed up word and we hadn't seen each other in quite a while. I wanted him, yes. I had for a long time. But wanting to shag someone senseless isn't the same as being in love and I know that.

"You plotted this out right?" An ache started in my chest. "I thought you came for me."

"I did. You're the main focus. But if we can help the others, we do."

--------------

I didn't miss the hurt in Newkirk's face although he hid it well. "So you came thinking I could help," he said quietly.

I stood up, walked to him and grasped his shoulders. "I came for you," I repeated. "Peter, we can strike back."

"For what? Think anyone gives a damn about us?"

Anger started to curl through me. "I care. Others do." Newkirk actually sneered.

"Right. So many care. Why do you think we're ruddy rotting here? Why do you think the Krauts come in anytime they want and do whatever they want? We're not people to the world, gov, just freaks!"

I gave him a sharp shake. "We are not freaks," I snapped. "We are going to get ourselves together and shove ourselves right down the Nazis' throats and make them choke!"

Newkirk looked like he was torn between rage and actual laughter. I ignored the innuendo of what I had said. An odd life filled his eyes and I inwardly cheered to see that blaze, to see any life back in his face. Anger won out. "Easy for you to say," he said. "You don't live in the damn ghetto, do you?"

"I'll have to, won't I? I'll need a guide, a partner."

"You're American, Rob!"

I grinned. Using my first name meant he was slipping. "They'd listen if I was homosexual, right?"

"You're not that good an actor, mate."

I started. "What?"

"You don't belong here, gov. You're not like us!"

It hit me between the eyes. I cursed myself, held up a hand. Slowly I unbuttoned my shirt. Newkirk watched curiously although I also thought I saw desire--at least, I hoped so. Ignoring the pull of bruised muscles, I shrugged off my shirt and Newkirk inhaled. He leaned forward, caressed my shoulder with calloused fingers that felt good. Only six months old, the ridged brand on my right shoulder no longer hurt. Yet I still had nightmares.

"What is this?" he asked in a soft, shocked tone.

" _My _brand."

"What? But...how?"

"It wasn't official. I got caught by a non military person. They branded me but no one knows about it. I'll fit in here."

His eyes turned wild. "People will expect you to act certain ways, do things. You're not like that, gov. You're not a homosexual."

"I can do this."

He snorted. "Convince me you're homosexual."

I smiled. He had no idea how delectable he looked, all mussy black hair and flashing eyes. I stepped forward, ran a hand down Newkirk's jaw. Under my hand, he trembled, then shivered again as I touched his lips. I pulled him against him, ghosted my lips over his. Gently, I pressed down, holding back a desire to kiss him hard and plunder his mouth.

Newkirk made a soft, vulnerable noise, a whimper almost, and I tried not to go mad. I ran a hand through his hair, kissed him deeper until his mouth opened fully and I plunged my tongue in my mouth. His fingers ground into my shoulders and he pulled me closer. Skinny or not, he was still strong. I turned up the heat a few notches and the return passion nearly scorched me as he gave me everything right back and with interest. When we finally broke apart, both of us panted slightly and I know my pants were tight. Newkirk shakily shoved his hands in his pockets. "All right you can kiss," he said.

"And we can do this. The people here will listen to me, especially if I had an English boyfriend."

-----------

"NO! Bloody hell, NO! I am not playacting your lover!"

"Calm down!" Hogan's voice sharpened, remionding me of my CO of old. "If it's that bad, it doesn't have to you."

"I am not pimping for you!"

"What is wrong with you? We can do this!"

"You are an idiot," I said. "Think! Why in the hell would you want to rot here? What do you think jackasses like Johnson will do to you? Hell, what do you think the Krauts will do?"

"Treat me like everyone else."

"Exactly," I said. He studied me and I could see he didn't get it. "Just like everyone else here."

"So?"

"So?! This isn't Stalag 13 and those guards aren't Klink or Schultz! Do you bloody _want_ to be tossed face down on a table or forced to your knees whenever a Kraut gets an itch?!"

---------

The room stilled, almost seemed to go into slow motion. My stomach heaved. _ My God, what is going on here? _ I grabbed Newkirk's shoulders. "What did you say?" _ Please let me have heard wrong. _

He gave me a bitter smile. "We have a place here, gov. Under the Nazis' feet."

"Who?" I demanded. "How many times?"

He pulled away from me, face flushing. "I don't know," he mumbled. "It doesn't matter."

I grabbed him again, shook him lightly. "You're damn right it matters! God, Peter, where in the hell is everyone? The Red Cross, the Geneva Human Rights group?" When the Ghetto was formed, rules had been established. None of the inhabitants were supposed to be harassed or hurt. The Red Cross and the Geneva group were authorized to enter at any time to investigate.

Newkirk snorted. "Like they care."

I didn't even know I was growling until Newkirk's eyes widened. Then I felt it in my throat and chest. "I care! That's why I'm here!"

"Don't you get it? You may be playacting but I'm not!"

"What are you babbling about?"

"You're bloody gorgeous, you're sexy, you're smart, you have the devil's own luck. Do you think I'm a bloody statue?"

I got it then. "I can do a lot more than kiss," I dryly said.

"No!" The cry ripped from him and I let him go. "Don't you get it? I don't want some pity fuck, not from you!"

"I said I need a partner, you idiot!"

"So a simple bargain? You sleep with me and I help you? Isn't that romantic?"

I rolled my eyes. "Who said it couldn't be romance? Could we please give this a shot? I didn't get this brand being with a woman, you know!"

"You never even looked at me. You were too busy ogling Tiger." I blinked. The jealousy poured from him. _Could it be all that time in Stalag 13 he was watching me? How blind had I been?_

I reached out, touched his shoulder as he narrowed his eyes. "I like the ladies," I admitted. "Doesn't mean I don't like the men. In fact, I like the men more than the women usually."

The suspicion mingled with hope on his face made me smile. "You noticed us?"

"You have two scars under your left arm. They cross in an odd manner. I always wonder what made them." Newkirk blinked, looking pleased. "Your eyes are deep green that turn fiery when you get angry which happens a lot. When you con people, you have a slight lilt in your voice."

--------

I had to admit, it was incredible to hear. Soothed more than a few ruffled feathers, that did. "Why didn't you say anything?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't _know_, remember? I thought I saw you looking a few times and you and LeBeau were close..."

"No." I cut him off. "Not like that. It was a long dry spell in Stalag 13." I shrugged. "Long dry spell 'ere, too." He grinned then and I groaned.

"I'm not attractive?" he teased.

I grabbed him and began to kiss.

He felt ruddy fantastic. I hadn't had a lover in years. I mean, I spent Stalag 13 years dreaming about him (and a few others). Here, well, the Krauts pretty much destroyed any sex drive I had. Rob, though, his kiss alone woke every nerve in my body. I knew I was an idiot--I wanted him to care for me, not his cause. He smelled like aftershave and I swear a faint hint of leather. I kissed him as if I was starving, pulling everything I could from him. He kissed me back and before long, he'd taken over, kissing me until I could barely see straight. I gasped against his neck, kissed him again. He slid his hands under my shirt and like a ruddy 12 year virgin girl, I froze. He stopped immediately.

"Peter?"

"Sorry," I whispered. Damn it, I was NOT doing this. I was not panicking and ruining an opportunity that might never come again! I kissed him again.

He took my hand and led me to my bedroom.

-----------

He trembled like a leaf, terrified and yet I knew he was thrilled. I focused on his mouth, worked on getting him to just feel that. God, I had never done anything quite like this. I had to make him remember that sex was more than torture. I had to go slow. Easy to think about. A lot harder in practice when he moaned out my name and writhed underneath me. I took my time, making him burn and in the process, igniting myself as well. i made Peter cry out my name, made sure he climaxed. Then he twisted in just the right manner and I gasped. He chuckled slightly, touched me _right_ there, and I lost control.

Afterwards, I was embarrassed but he kissed me sleepily and closed his eyes. I watched him sleep, glancing around curiously. I had been right. The mattress and bed were shabby and battered, the only other furnishing a beat up dresser. A few photos on top of the dresser made my heart ache. They were all of us at Stalag 13. I didn't know how he managed to keep them. I wondered about his sister. Then I looked down at Newkirk again. Ribs and hipbones prominently protruded under his skin. Outrage filled me. This ghetto wasn't an actual death camp but damn close. I ran a hand down his back gently, wincing at the sharp vertebra. I must have fallen asleep, jerking awake when Newkirk moved. "I 'ave to go to work," he whispered.

"Want help?" I asked.

He eyed me and smiled. "Grunt work. I unload the trucks, move flour, reload the trucks. "

"I'll help."

"You'll be a damn site more help than ol' Philippe, that's for sure." I stood and Newkirk grabbed my arm. "Rob, thank you," he said softly. "I mean, for, um..."

_My God, he is thanking me for not abusing him, for showing him sex is fulfilling and fun. _I touched his cheek. "Peter, I wanted you a long time. Still do." He gave me an odd look. "Besides, I should be thanking you."

He rolled his eyes. "Let's hit the showers," he said. "Ruddy stupid, showering before work but I don't want to give Philippe a heart attack." He shook his head. "Although seeing me with you just might do that."


	3. Chapter 3

Hot water relaxed my sore muscles and I had to smile as the rich smell of lavender filled the air. I washed quickly but thoroughly, trying to leave hot water for Newkirk. When I emerged, I tossed Newkirk the soap. "Nice," I said.

He flushed. "Philippe gave it to me. He 'as a lot. It's bloody girly but whatever works." He gestured to a pile of clothes. "Bit more sensible than your clothes, at least for what we're doing."

I nodded, touched the shirt. "Short sleeves?"

"We'll work up a sweat, mate, guaranteed." I grinned, cocking an eyebrow. "Not that way."

I laughed and dressed while he showered.

Philippe turned out to be an older man in his early 60's. He glanced at both of us and turned to Newkirk, speaking quickly in French. I know some French but not enough. To my tremendous shock, Newkirk responded in French. "You speak French?" I blurted. _That was stupid. Of course he does!_

Newkirk looked amused. "Learned it in self defense," Newkirk replied. "I have a horrible accent but I'm all right. Philippe, this is Robert Hogan. Robert Hogan, my boss, Philippe. "

"My pleasure, sir." Philippe shook my hand. He spoke flawless English and I smiled at Newkirk's snort. "The Robert Hogan? From Stalag 13?"

"That's me."

"Welcome! Pierre has told me much about you. A true honor, sir."

"Should I be worried?" I asked with a smile.

"He is very complimentary," Philippe said. He gazed at me in an appraising manner. "He has never mentioned you were one of us. In fact, he lamented the fact."

I glanced at a brick red Newkirk and began laughing. Newkirk just scowled. "I couldn't tell him," I admitted. Philippe looked at Newkirk and said something in French that contained the word 'sex' or 'sexy' and Newkirk looked as if he would die on the spot.

"Would you like coffee, Colonel?"

"I had come to give Newkirk a hand."

"The trucks are not yet here. I will make coffee for all of us."

"Coffee is precious, " I hedged.

"Philippe has contacts," Newkirk said. He gestured towards chairs and a small table. He grinned as his employer scowled at him. Philippe began to make coffee.

"You know the black market more than I." I glanced at Newkirk who merely shrugged.

"Someone has to know it," Newkirk said. "Besides, I get to practice my German."

"French and German. Useful," I said.

"I'm not great in French, sir," Newkirk said. I sighed, took his hand, and ran my fingers over his.

"Robert. Rob. I think we can use first names, right, Peter?" Newkirk flushed again and Philippe laughed.

"Fine. Rob it is," Newkirk muttered. A sly smile danced on his lips. "Or how about Bobby?"

I winced. "Robert or Rob or you become Petey."

He winced as well, grabbed my hand as I kept caressing his. "I 'ave a smattering of Russian as well. Vladimir, decent bloke, taught me some before 'e died. He lived a few blocks away."

"Poor Vlad." Philippe stood and pour coffee and brought out sandwiches as well. I looked at Philippe. "The Krauts beat Vlad to death. With chains." He patted my arm. "It happens, Robert."

"Why?" I asked. Biting into a sandwich reminded me of LeBeau. I hadn't had French cooking for a while. I had missed it, the art of turning even a simple sandwich into something fulfilling and delicious. I stared at Philippe. "Beef?"

He smiled. "Beef," he confirmed. "I received some from as friend. As for Vlad..." he shrugged.

"Krauts don't give reasons," Newkirk said. He began eating. I smiled and Philippe nodded.

"A paramour will do you wonders, Pierre."

Newkirk blushed again but said nothing. We ate as a low rumble began. "Trucks," Newkirk said.

The trucks arrived around 0200. As Newkirk and I unloaded the heavy bags of flour and sugar, I understood why short sleeves had been insisted on. Sweat soaked my shirt and ran stingingly into my eyes. _I need to work out more! It shouldn't be so hard. _Nuts, a few boxes of fresh and dried fruit, eggs and more also needed to be moved and placed in the tidy storeroom or the walk in refrigerator. As we moved back and forth, I could smell bread baking. Philippe had let us do the manual labor while he began the day's baking.

We then loaded racks of loaves of delicious smelling bread, bisquits, and surprisingly enough, cookies. When the trucks left, I wiped my brow and Newkirk grinned. "This is what I do, mate," he warned. "Usually, we get groceries twice a week and six nights a week the trucks come to be unloaded and loaded."

"I thought food would be hard to get."

"Philippe has a few important clients still. That food goes to them. Don't get me wrong, I do OK 'cause I work here but it's an exception more than the rule."

"You work most nights and sleep in the day," I said.

"A lot like Stalag 13," he teased. He tossed me a worn, clean towel and used another to wipe his face.

"Does Philippe do all the cooking?"

"Naw. He 'as an assistant. She comes in a little later. Name's May."

We went inside, back into the actual kitchen where enormous ovens baked bread. Newkirk grabbed a broom. "Do that later," Philippe said, coming over. "Feed Perseus first. I am going to the potato district later."

"Why?' The tone in Newkirk's voice drew my attention. Sharp, bitter, and ugly, it was frightening to hear. "Thought those filthy blighters had moved on."

"They are as poor as us, Pierre."

"Bullocks. They shouldn't be poor at all with all that blood money. Don't give them a fig, Philippe, they are better off drowned." My heart sank at the hate I heard. Philippe tsked and sent Newkirk out. I glanced at Philippe with a raised eyebrow. He handed me another cup of coffee. "Perseus is my pony," he explained. "Pierre is feeding him and cleaning his stall. A pony is easier to care for than a truck. Corn, oats, grass I can get. Not gas nor parts."

"Smart," I said. "I don't understand the potato district reference?"

Philippe sighed. "That is the Irish district. Pierre hates them. As do most of the English, Scots, and Welsh. You Americans are despised for the treaty. The Irish, however, are loathed. They actively betrayed us and many wish them dead. Some do more than wish."

I frowned. "Not good."

"We have divisions here in the Pink Ghetto as well. Not as many as most."

"So why are you here?"

Philippe smiled. "I moved here after World War 1 with my lover Matthew. We were very happy for many years. He died in a bombing." Philippe spoke calmly. "I stayed for this had become my home."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Robert. I met Pierre when the Ghetto was established. He helped me against some of the Germans. So I hired him. He lives upstairs, helps me with German and I taught him French. I do have it easier than many. Everyone needs bread, even the Krauts. Plus I have friends outside the Ghetto who buy my bread. May helps me bake and runs the register. I used to make glorious cakes, delicious pies, and eclairs. Not anymore. I have a friend who wanted me to make treats for Hitler's wedding. I refused. I could use the money but no, not for _him_."

I raised an eyebrow. Hitler's wedding was in two months and my heart ached for young Queen Elizabeth II. Everyone knew she'd sold herself for her people. Her father dead from a supposed 'heart attack', her fiancee killed, and her country dying, what choice did she have? Yet, at least she'd made old Scramble Brains pay high. The Jews in all of German controlled Europe had been granted basic rights and offered the choice to leave Europe. The homosexuals were supposed to be treated humanely. Britain's war leaders were all allowed to live save Winston Churchill. _In return, she just had to sell herself and the throne. King Adolph. Ye God._

"I feel for her," I murmured.

"Elizabeth? Ah, she is _tres magnifique_. What she is doing is more than brave." Philippe shook his head. "Why are you here, Robert? You have not been tossed here, have you?"

"No. I came for Peter."

"He is my friend." Philippe eyed me in clear warning. "I don't want him hurt."

"I don't want that either. I care for Peter. A lot. I want to save him and more. I had no idea it was so bad here."

"It is ugly," Philippe agreed sadly. "And I am lucky." He ran a finger over the table. "And what do you do, Colonel?"

"I'm actually a General. I'm part of a US Armed Services/Red Cross exploration team. We travel through Europe, studying conditions."

"But you are branded."

"It's not official." I swallowed hard. I could still smell the burning of my flesh and my stomach knotted. One quickie with a stranger and my partner's throat is cut and I'm being branded. The worst part had been the discovering that the one who attacked us was my erstwhile lover's father. I didn't like killing.

I did that time.

"Your military has not found out?"

"Rank has its privileges. I date women, I shower alone, and since we're not offically at war, I don't have to share my quarters. It won't last forever but it's helped me. It helped me find out what happened to Peter." I clenched my glass. "I never thought we'd ever sign that treaty. They dragged my men away at gunpoint. it took me three months to find out where Peter was, another five to wrangle a way here. I thought Stalag 13 was bad. Europe is no man's land and this place is Dante's Inferno."

"And Pierre?"

"How much you do hate the Germans?" I asked.

He stared at me. "I want them skinned."

I nodded. "And if someone had a way to strike back?"

Philippe studied me. "I would give my life." I could practically taste the hate. I smiled and Philippe's return smile made me tremble inside. "You have not mentioned Pierre."

"I want him to be my partner," I admitted and the words felt good. Odd but good. "He's always watched my back. I want that again. And to be my lover."

"_Bonne_. He needs someone to care for him."

I swallowed. "Do you know which Krauts have an unusual interest in him?"

"Who has raped him, you mean?" Philippe swallowed his coffee, lips thinning. I started. "_Oui_, I know what has happened. I have seen him limp back several times and he avoids certain guards. He never talks about it. It is hardly unusual, Robert. Many of our people have been assaulted."

"I want their names," I said softly.

Philippe nodded quickly as Newkirk entered. "He's fed and cleaned," Newkirk announced. "That sorry little sod tried to nip me again."

"He likes you."


	4. Chapter 4

I stepped in and wondered what Philippe and Hogan (Rob) had been chatting about. Both looked suspiciously calm. "So what 'ave you two been discussing?" I dusted straw from my hands.

"Your bad habits," Philippe said. I eyeballed him but then chuckled. _Have to admit, he seems awfully smug. Probably thinking he was right all along, I only needed a good man. _"Have some coffee, Pierre."

"No thanks. Do you have any tea left?"

Philippe nodded and made tea. I began sweeping and Rob joined me, starting on the other side. Soon we sat at the table again. I could smell meat cooking and bit my lip. It could be chicken. I ignored my stomach and kept still. Philippe poured tea for me. "I have a basket for you two," Philippe said. "Have a nice meal, Pierre. But drink your tea first. It will take time for the food to cook."

"Philippe..." I started. "You can't..."

"No, Pierre. I will not hear any protests."

I sighed but sipped my tea. Rob sat next to me and I grinned. May scurried in a few moments later and stopped in shock. Rob stood in surprise. "May, this is Rob. Rob, May," I introduced. Rob smiled his charming smile but May just shied away towards Philippe. "'E's with me, May."

She nodded. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hello." Rob sat back down. May began working, shooting glances over her shoulder. Rob glanced at me and I looked upwards. I knew he had questions. He nodded, drank his coffee. Philippe handed me a basket that smelled heavenly.

"Go have dinner."

We headed upstairs. "She's all right?" Rob asked.

"She doesn't like strangers," I said. "That's why she looks like she does." May wore baggy shirts and pants, had cropped her brown hair to the scalp, and wore a battered cap. It helped camouflage her actually very pretty face and eyes. She flitted like a shadow from place to place and outside of work, tried to avoid everyone, especially men. Only Philippe and I were safe and she sometimes wondered about me.

"How many women are here?"

"I'm not sure. They 'ave it far worse than us. Least we can't get pregnant."

Rob looked appalled. "How does she run the register?"

"She knows most of the people here and she's tough. She's just not friendly. She didn't expect you in here. Anyway, the guys know Philippe and I would 'urt anyone who touched her." At my small table, I opened the basket and pulled out chicken, potatoes, apples, a small pie, and a bottle of wine. "Philippe must really like you," I said. Rob grinned.

"Everyone likes me." he said.

We ate and Rob poured the wine. He told me a little about his job and I shook my head. "A bloody general." _I should have known. Devil's own luck indeed!_

"It's come in useful." Rob sipped his wine, savored his chicken. "I so missed French cooking."

"This is almost like having Louie back."

"He's doing all right,"

------

Peter's eyes lit. I smiled. "You've seen him?"

I nodded. "I got detoured in France," I said. I sipped my wine and closed my eyes in pleasure. After a moment, I opened my eyes. "As we travelled in France, I made side trips. I ran into LeBeau in Paris. We were both shocked. He's working with a unit backed by the Russians. He wanted to come with me to save you."

"Why didn't he?"

"Too dangerous for him. Besides, three's a crowd." I raised an eyebrow and Peter grinned. "But he's good. Told me to tell you he's waiting for us."

"What about Kinch?"

"He left the service. He's going to college now. Electrical engineering."

"He could teach the class," Peter said. He drank his wine slowly, ate his chicken. His eyes sparkled. "And Andrew?"

I frowned. "The last I know of," I slowly said. "Carter was possibly in Russia." I felt an ache in my chest.

Peter's eyes widened. "What?"

I sighed. "A lot of people were angry with what the US government did. Carter was furious. He gathered his pay, went to visit a friend in North Dakota. There, I think he slipped across the border and joined up with a Canadian unit going to Europe. He then headed into Russia. LeBeau didn't say directly but I got the idea Carter is with Marya. Somehow he found her."

"Marya?! Blimey, gov, she'll _kill _him." In Newkirk's voice, I heard a touch of awe.

"He chose it," I said. I savored another sip of wine. "He was very upset that you and LeBeau--and Europe--were treated so bad."

Peter's face softened. "You were angry, too," he reminded. I looked away. I remembered that all too well.

"Yes," I tightly said. "I am sorry."

Peter put down his glass of wine and pulled me into his arms. "It's all right, Rob," he murmurs. "You fought like hell."

--------------

I saw the guilt in his face, the rage, and ached to erase it. I kissed him, nuzzled his neck, did my best to show him I didn't blame him for that damn treaty. He kissed me back and I led him again to the bedroom. I took over this time, for the first time in what seemed like forever. Skin against skin, I pressed him into the mattress, ran my tongue down his chest. This time I was going to make _him_ burn.

From his gasps and moans, I guessed I did all right. I took my time, tried to etch each scar and mark into my memory forever.

Afterwards, he slept and I reached out to gently stroke a long scar down his shoulder. I used to know every mark on him for I watched him continually although always subtly and carefully. I wanted to know the story behind every scar, each familiar and unfamiliar mark. I watched Rob's ribs rise and fall, breathed in his scent. Carefully, I drew my fingers through his hair. Ruddy hell, I was in trouble. I'd fallen for Robert Hogan years ago, reluctantly at first. Then I became bloody besotted with my CO. And now I was actually going to dive off the cliff for him. "I know you care for me," I whispered. "But this is insane, Rob." Pathetic thing was, it didn't matter. Someone had to protect Robert Hogan, even from himself, and that was what I did. Always had. Now I seemed I had my old job back--with delicious benefits.

All it would cost me was possibly my life--and most definitely, my heart.


	5. Chapter 5

I woke as sunlight fell across my face. I guessed the time around 1300, 1400 hours. The room glowed with light and Peter had an arm wrapped around me, snuggled tight against my back. It felt--good. I hadn't slept, actually slept, with any of my male lovers and few of my female ones. I liked it. Peter's breath stirred my hair. Then his lashes brushed my neck as he opened his eyes. "Rob?'

"Morning. Or afternoon."

"You stayed." In his voice, I heard something I could only describe as shock. My chest ached. "Thanks," he whispered.

"You and I, Peter."

He rubbed his cheek on my neck. I squeezed his hand and stood up, not surprised at the pain of overworked, sore muscles. I headed for the bathroom, frowning at the black eye from yesterday's fight. "Lovely," I muttered. Another shower, a quick shave. I smelled coffee and eggs and came out to a set table. "Peter, you never had to,,,"

"Eat," Peter said. He sat down to his own plate. We ate. "Come with me," I offered.

""How? You may be free, mate, but I'm on record."

"I have the right to question who I want. You come with me, we'll get some items. Once I'm here permanently, I can't get anything from out there."

Peter bit his lip. "Rob, we need to talk about this. Don't give up your freedom before you have to.'

I took his shoulders. "I won't," I said. "And if this idea doesn't fly, if it can't work, you and I will leave by ourselves."

"All right." He smiled. "Let me shower."

He emerged a few minutes later, clean, shaved, and wearing an old, worn sweater. I made a mental note to get Peter and Philippe new clothes and some food. I noted the unusual frown on his face. "What's wrong?"

"When we go outside, you will get some flak. Let me take care of it."

"I can take care of myself."

Peter took my shoulders, gazed into my eyes. "No," he said. "You don't know the ghetto, Rob. I do. And there's another point. I'm not your corporal, not anymore. If this scheme does somehow work, I'll back you up and follow you. But I am your partner, your equal, and that means I 'ave a say, too. Can you handle that?"

I inhaled. "I didn't expect this," I admitted. _More than that. Can I deal with this? But he's Peter, not just Corporal Newkirk. I've always known that. _Still, my men were always under me in the chain of command. Yet, I did want a partner. He nodded, face slowly smoothing into an expressionless mask. I gripped his arm. "Peter, I meant what I said. I want a partner. But if this does work, someone has to be in charge."

"That's fine. If we gather a group, you can be in charge. But I need to be your full partner. I need to know I have a say."

I nodded. "Understood." He looked at me warily. "I'm all right with that, Peter."

"Really?"

"Really." Now he looked confused. I pulled him close, kissed him hard. All right, I hadn't expected this but I could handle it. After all, he was right. If we shared a life, he had a right to have a say in it. I'd be in charge of the military end and the rest, well, we'd have to figure that out. He still looked confused but handed my coat to me. "So why will you get flak?"

"American boyfriend, mate. When I 'ad no boyfriend before and 'aven't since I've been here."

"I feel privileged," I teased.

Newkirk actually laughed. "Come on, let's look around." He grabbed my hand and we walked out.

Clouds scudded across the sky, a bright blue sky. Newkirk shivered in his coat. He stiffened suddenly and I glanced around. A couple of men strolled our way. "Friends?" I asked lowly.

"They're just bloody pains," Newkirk replied. "The tall one is Brad and the shorter one is Warren." I looked at the men again. Both seemed ordinary enough.

"Newkirk!" Brad hurried over. "Who are you, then, mate?" He looked directly at me.

"I'm Robert," I said.

"You're a Yank," Brad exclaimed.

"What are you doing with a Yank, Newkirk?" Warren asked.

"Nothing you two 'aven't done." Newkirk's arm wrapped around my shoulders. "And you can keep your 'ands off him."

"Always knew you were a Yank lover," Warren said. His gaze returned to me. "So how long have you been here? I haven't seen you before."

"Not long." I smiled. "Just long enough to find Peter."

"Welcome to Hell, mate," Warren said, holding out his hand. We shook. "Life in the ghetto is going to be a helluva change."

"I can already see that."

Newkirk's arm tightened on my shoulders as Brad grinned at him. "Some people aren't going to like this," Brad said to him. "Not dating anyone and suddenly you shag a Yank?'

"That's my business," Newkirk retorted, voice hard. "I can take up with who I want. Christ, we're already fighting the Germans. Why battle each other?"

"He is a looker," Brad said.

"Thank you," I said, smiling a more charming smile now. Brad appraised me thoughtfully and Warren elbowed him.

"Keep it in your pants," he advised. "Come on. We'll see you two around."

Newkirk shook his head as the men left. "Always the charmer," he said. Yet a rueful smile curved his lips. "Guess I'll 'ave to rein in my jealous streak."

"What?"

"Come on, gov. You're a natural flirt."

I laughed. "Coming from you, that's a laugh."

Newkirk looked startled then chuckled softly. "You're a bit in a different league than me, mate."

"You can charm a fox from its coat," I said.

Newkirk grinned. "You want to see the Ghetto?"

"Let's go outside first. i need a few thing and you and Philippe could use a few things."

"Like what?"

"How long has it been since you two really ate? i mean, the bread and rolls are great and Philippe is doing better than I could imagine. Yet, I didn't miss that you two are skinny and that everyone in the Ghetto is bony. And clothes. You need warm clothes." Newkirk looked torn between embarrassment and gratitude. I squeezed his hand. It was odd that I could hold his hand here, not worry about being harassed. Yet all I had to do was look around and the despair wrapped around me. "Stop worrying. Clean clothes and a little food is nothing."Newkirk reluctantly nodded. I kissed his neck and we started off again. I tried to note all I could. There were no Krauts that I could see. The buildings stood grimy and battered and I looked for hiding places, trying to calculate where we could possibly break out.

The gates loomed ahead and Newkirk nodded. "Black iron. Three guards in each guard house. Two guard houses 'ere and various ones around the perimeter."

"Got it," I murmured._ Forbidding. But I can see a few holes. Hmmm...Wonder who's in all the surrounding buildings?_

It was only a flicker but Newkirk tensed. I glanced quickly around and noticed a tall guard watching us intently. He strode toward us and I kept walking, feeling Newkirk beside me.

"_Halt! Was tust du?_! (What are you doing?)"

I curled my lip at the tone. _God, these krauts are beginning to act all like. Damn attitude. Two can play that game. _I pulled myself taller, ignoring the guard. He strode as if he owned the world. I kept walking. When he grabbed my arm, I whirled on him. "What are you doing?" I snapped. "Do you know who I am, Sergeant?"

He stepped back but eyeballed me. "Who are you?" he demanded. "And what are you doing with this s_chwele_?"

I tensed. "I am General Hogan of the US Army Air Forces. I am one of the heads of the Red Cross delegation. Who are you, Sergeant and how dare you touch me?"

"Your pardon, herr General. I am Sergeant Hedier. I will need to see your papers, sir." I pulled my papers from my coat, eyeballing the Sergeant. He glanced at my papers and handed them back. "This way, herr General. We can get you medical aid. Who has injured you?"

"I fell," I replied, knowing full well what would happen if I said I was hit by someone in the Ghetto. _They'd probably shoot 100 people_. I glanced at Newkirk, not liking the faint shadow in his eyes. "Are you ready?" I asked politely.

"Yes, General," he replied.

"What is this doing with you?" Hedier asked in disgust.

"He is one of the people I am interviewing," I retorted. "And that is all you need to know."

"He will need an armband," Hedier said.

"Do you think I am an idiot?" I snapped. "I know the rules, Sergeant!"

"Jawohl, herr General!"

Newkirk pulled on the black armband with the pink triangle. I bit back the rage, noting Hedier studying Newkirk. Soon we walked out of the Ghetto and Newkirk's shoulders relaxed. "Feel better?" I asked softly.

"Some. The bloody armband is annoying."

"Do you know the Sergeant?" i asked.

"Hedier? Seen 'im a few times."

I immediately heard the forced ease in his voice and my stomach knotted. So Hedier _was_ one of the men who forced him. Have to remember that. I breathed hard. _Later. But i will make him pay._


	6. Chapter 6

_Impressive._ I watched the salutes the men gave Hogan as we entered the US embassy. Me, well, some looked through me. That was better than the ones who looked like I was something they found on the bottom of their shoes. _How can he want to live like this? He could be free..._ I wasn't an idiot. The Yanks tossed their homosexuals in the ghetto just as much as anyone else and most were happy to do so. These men would turn on Rob just as fast as anyone else. _He is crazy. Damn it, we could just leave. Maybe take Philippe and that rotten pony. He has no idea what he's up against... I_ longed, briefly, for LeBeau, Kinch, and Carter. They'd been really good mates. I never had to worry about a knife in the back. Then again, they didn't know about what I was either. I shook myself awake. ___What would they have done to me? Would they be happier that I was in the Ghetto?_

"Come on."

I jerked as Rob gestured into an office. I slipped past him. "Color me impressed, gov," I said, grinning. The office exuded wealth and power--velvet curtains, heavily carved desk, massive leather chairs. A uniform jacket hung on the chair. I chuckled at the General's ensigna. I sat down and Hogan closed the door. "This is my office," he simply said, shrugging on the jacket. He sat behind the desk and scribbled on a piece of paper. "We will have a late lunch and proceed to the interview." He handed me the note.

_ Don't talk freely. Bugs and ears._

I nodded. "That'd be great," I said carelessly. Hogan smiled and pressed a button on his phone.

"Miss Dickinson, please come in."

I raised an eyebrow as an attractive redhead entered the room. Her gaze flicked to me and then Hogan. I suppressed the shock I felt at seeing her. "Yes, General?"

"Please have lunch brought in to myself and my guest. Here is the order."

"Yes, General."

I watched her leave and Hogan shot me a look. I shrugged. "Let's start with the basic questions," he started. "Please relax."

I nodded. He began with basic questions and I responded in a similar vein. The only questions that threw me were the ones about being abused. I narrowed my eyes. I knew I never should have mentioned what happened. It was hardly rare, anyway. _Leave it to Rob to want to be a knight on a white charger. _ Part of me, however, felt good about it. It was nice to be cared about.

"Brothers and sisters?' Rob asked.

"Huh?"

"Do your brothers and sisters come see you?'

"'Aven't got any."

Rob glared at me but didn't press. I felt an old pain in my chest. Mavis. I hadn't seen or heard from her since I'd been assigned to the Ghetto. I hoped she was happy. I glanced at Rob again. _I should tell him to forget this. But why do I think it'd be futile? Because he's a thick headed officer, that's why. A bloody General._

The door opened and the redhead appeared, pushing a cart like restaurants had. My mouth watered. It smelled like steak. Not withstanding Philippe's sandwich, I hadn't had beef since I was in Stalag 13 and that was whatever LeBeau could find for us. Certainly not steak.

It was steak, bless Rob's wicked heart. And mushrooms and vegetables and cherry pie with whipped cream. I admit, I gorged. Rob ate as well, an odd amusement in his face. "Thank you," I finally said.

"You're welcome. Come, let's go for a walk."

We left the office and began walking the streets. "We can talk some here," Hogan said. "Nice job on the questions--although you didn't have to lie."

"I didn't."

"Mavis?"

I know I flinched slightly. Hell, it hurt to know my little sister had willingly deserted me. But it made sense. If it became known her brother was a poof, she could lose everything. "Long gone, mate." I pulled my coat close. "Come on." _I probably would have done it too. She deserves a chance._

Hogan gestured to a clothing store. I frowned. "It says no pinks, mate."

"Fuck that. If they want bloody money, they can deal with it."

I blinked but grinned. "Your funeral, gov."

Hogan stepped in the store. I knew the salespeople would be here in a minute when I followed him. Indeed, the manager hurried over. "General, I am sorry but we don't allow--them." He said the word them like it soured his beer.

"Do you want a sale?" Hogan snapped. "He isn't shopping. I am."

Honestly, I was surprised. _He usually charms everyone_, I pondered. Seeing him in outraged general mode made me blink. Especially at some store manager. Yet the manager, flustered, stared at him. Then he pulled a huge, insincere smile on his face. "Of course, General. As long as your--boy doesn't touch anything."

------

I could feel Newkirk bridling instantly. I shoved down the rage and smiled, a smile just as sharp as the manager's. "Don't worry, I'd hardly want him to catch something from you or your staff."

Tension increased. I looked at the coats, happy to find several thick ones. I took my time, chatting with Peter who ignored the looks. Finally I purchased a fairly decent assortment for Philippe and Newkirk and left with a box of clothing. I took it to a nearby soldier, ordered it to my office. The German looked nervously at me and Newkirk. Newkirk perked up and the soldier hurried. off. "You know him?" I asked as we headed down the street.

"No," he smirked. "But he's one of us."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Hmm..."

"So's your secretary."

I laughed. "Really? I thought she was just immune to my charms. She's good at her job."

"I've seen 'er a couple times when I've been meeting with Gilroy."

"Gilroy?"

"Black market."

I nodded. _We'll need his contacts. _I wanted to see Newkirk on his home streets. He relaxed somewhat yet I sensed his constant wariness. People walked all around us, pink triangles sprinkled among the crowds. I hated how the crowds avoided them and yet, the most hate I saw was directed to the Germans which was good. _I wonder if old Scramble Brains knows just what he's up against here. The British loathe him and sooner or later, someone will kill him. If Elizabeth II doesn't kill him on the wedding night. 16 years old and marrying someone who is 53. Old Adolph's marrying a child. And they say homosexuals are the perverts. _I noted a depressing amount of signs declaring "No Pinks" and also "No Micks". Even a few small "No Yanks". I remembered seeing No Jews signs in Europe. There were No Coloreds signs in the US south. _Is this what it all boils down to? Divisions and fighting? No wonder ol' Adolph does so well--he plays on everyone's fears and us versus them. Maybe Elizabeth can soften him...That poor young woman._

"Gov?" I glanced at Peter. Part of me suddenly wanted him, lust rushing through me so strongly it burned. Peter stepped closer, giving me a crooked smile. "Right 'ere?" he muttered. "In the streets?"

I sighed. "I wish." I grinned at his surprise. "Come on."

"In the streets?"

I laughed. "Someone has to make sure you're paying attention!"

I did wonder what people thought. I purchased a few items, tried to ignore the dirty looks we often received. After a haircut, Newkirk looked much like he did before, back at Stalag 13. "So how are you planning this, gov?" Peter finally asked as we walked the streets.

"I'll tell you tonight."


	7. Chapter 7

I don't know why I didn't expect it. God, I should have-Peter warned me enough. Despite all I knew about the Nazis, I always liked to think there was good somewhere. We headed back to the guard house and I ground my back teeth. I saw the guards watching us. Peter followed me, a few steps behind.

The guard who let us in appeared somewhat nervous. I stepped inside, made sure Peter was behind me, and pulled out my papers. Peter removed his armband. I stood patiently while the guard fumbled through my papers. I don't know when the noises and the lack of other guards caught my attention. I glanced around. Peter's face had gone blank, a far away look I had never seen before on him. I looked around and it clicked. Soft grunting, a whimper or two...

I strode forward, past the stammering guard. It took two kicks before the door lock gave. The door sprang open to reveal a heavy set man yanking up from a cot and a statue stiff guard against the wall, eyes wide.

I didn't care about them, only the scrawny, tow headed naked woman shaking and crying silently. A fresh brand, no more than a month old, glistened on her pale skin. She curled immediately and I could smell blood and semen, all coated with fear and pain so thick, I could taste it.

I inhaled. Carefully, I reached out, gently touched her ankle. Bruises covered her. "No," she whispered, a soft sound that broke my heart. "Please. _Bitte."_

"I'm not a German," I said. "Come on." I glanced around.

"Here." Peter brushed past me, handed me a coat. I gently covered her and she scrambled up, pulling the coat tight. Blood trickled down her legs and from her lip and a vivid, purpling bruise covered her left eye. Then she grabbed clothes that were puddled on the floor and scrambled into them. I now looked at the guards. The thin one shuddered visibly.

Rage filled me. The heavy set guard had, at least, fastened his pants but he didn't looked afraid, merely annoyed. "This is what you do?" I snapped. "What German guards do when they are supposed to be working?"

"They are _schewles. _They are nothing." The heavy set guard stared at me with dull contempt.

"We have rules," I said, wondering if I could kill the man right now. "Give me your name."

"I am Lt. Schmidt."

"I'm General Hogan," I snarled. "I hope you like it on the Russian front, Lt. And your sergeant here." Schmidt merely looked at me and smiled. I breathed once, slowly. "Come on, miss."

She stumbled past me, trying not to touch. The guards watched her, Schmidt leering. I grabbed my temper while Newkirk took her hand very gently. I shoved past the nervous guards and headed into the ghetto.

We hurried down the block, the woman gripping Peter's hand. "Peter?" I softly asked.

"I know a few people," Newkirk said. "What's your name, miss?"

"Lucy," she whispered in a tone that made me want to slaughter every guard that wore a swastika.

"I'm Peter," he said. "Newkirk is what most folks call me. 'E's Rob."

"An American?" she asked, looking at me quickly, then away.

"Born that way," I said gently.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I know a few people who can help," Peter said quietly.

"It's all right." She pulled her hand free. "It's hardly the first time." She rubbed her face with a grimy hand.

"I know a place with hot showers," Newkirk said. "And no men."

She looked at him again then nodded once, short, quick. Newkirk led her to a nondescript stone building where a heavy set woman stood by the door. "Hey, Bess," he called.

"Newkirk. Who's your friend?" She jerked her head at me.

I smiled. "E's Rob," Peter said. "He's all right."

"You vouch for him?'

"With my life," Peter said. The woman blinked.

"All right." She looked again at me. "Welcome to the ghetto, Rob."

"Thank you," I said. Her eyebrows rose.

"Yank?"

"All my life," I said.

"This is Lucy," Peter said. "She met Schmidt."

Bess stepped forward. "Come on, luv. We'll get you cleaned up." Lucy nodded and stepped up the stairs. "Thanks, Peter. And you, too, Rob."

"Pleasure to meet you," I said, smiling. She snorted.

"Isn't he the charmer?" She looked at Peter. "Yours?"

Peter took my hand. "Mine," he said.

At the bakery, Philippe, Peter, and I sat down. I didn't feel anywhere as good as I wanted to. A few meals, some clothes-what had I been thinking?

"Gov, you did a lot."

I looked up. "I did nothing," I said bitterly. "Lucy was raped while I did nothing."

"You stopped them." Peter handed me a plate of food, all smelling delicious. The food I had had sent in.

"but..."

"Pierre is right. You did a good thing. No one else has stepped forward to help us." Philippe cut off a small piece of steak and savored it slowly.

"She's just a kid, what, maybe 20, 21?"

"She'll be all right." Peter glanced at me. "We recover, Rob."

I shoved back the rage and fury, the absolute disgust that filled me that my lover saw rape as something commonplace. _Then again, here it is. God, I have to get him out of here, get him somewhere clean._

"Eat." Philippe tapped my plate. I looked at him and smiled.

_Is anywhere clean?_

"So what do you think we should do?" Philippe asked. "To escape?"

"Tell me about the prime people here. I know you trust no one besides Philippe." I looked at Peter. "But you know the people."

Philippe and Peter exchanged smiles.

A/N Thank you for all the kind reviews and the inquires about this story. R/L interfered but I should be much better about updates now!


	8. Chapter 8

I knew Rob was furious over Lucy's treatment. I didn't know how to soothe him, how to explain that while disgusting, what happened to her wasn't exceptional. I felt an internal tremor. I'd been on that cot more than once. _Don't think about it. It's just a body when all is said and done..._

"People? First you should see a map of the ghetto." _Good thing Philippe is thinking. We should just run, Rob. Take Philippe and that horrid pony he loves and leave._

Philippe spread out a large sheet of butcher paper where he and I had drawn a map. Rob's eyebrows raised. "Nice work." I smiled slightly. Back into leader mode. He tapped the gate. "Who lives in the houses near the gate?"

"Gilroy 'as one," I said. "His men live there, keep an eye on the guards. And a few local favorites of the Krauts."

"Huh." Rob frowned. "Collaborators?"

"We have them," Philippe said. "What are you thinking, Robert?"

"I would like to actually form an army here, arm as many men-and women-as possible, and get everyone out of here, get us to France."

Philippe stared. I'd forgotten he hadn't heard the crazy idea before. "Are you ill?" he asked incredulously. "Robert, Pierre has told me you have done incredible things but such a thing is impossible."

"Not with the right crew. OK, tell me about the people, the leaders. what about Bess?"

"Bess helps Nancy, who runs that place for the women. There's not really a leader, gov. We just survive. We're-inmates. Not friends."

"Who do the Krauts talk to when they make new rules?"

"They post them at the gate." Philippe got up, set up a coffeepot. "That is all. We have no council here."

"How do people get housing? Food?"

"We're given an address but most of us don't follow them," I explained. "You grab what you can. The majority of the people 'ere work at the factory I showed you, some on the docks."

"How many work here, like Philippe?"

"Not many," Philippe said. "A few bakers like me, a few handymen, a few house people."

"House people?"

"People without official jobs," I explained. "They steal, work for Gilroy or someone like him, or 'ave someone who takes care of them." Robert thoughtfully pondered this and I watched him, studied the lines I knew so well, watched his brow crinkle. The aroma of black market coffee made me jerk and Philippe smiled broadly. "Lay off, I'm thinking," I muttered.

"Oui. And what you are thinking must wait."

I felt blood rush through my cheeks. Rob looked over in bemusement then flushed himself. "Later," he crisply said. "Who should I know?"

"I will show you tomorrow," I said. "I'll introduce them to you."

"Have any names?" Hogan asked.

Philippe and I tossed out a few names, went over the map with Rob. I watched his fingers trace a path along the streets. I remembered seeing those fingers on so many maps, watched them drum on tabletops and bunks. _He could actually pull this off. If anyone could, he could. What am I thinking? It's insane!_

"Newkirk?"

"I'm listening," I said.

Philippe sighed. "Pierre, please. Go get some rest."

"I'm fine. And we have work to do."

"I know part of the Ghetto touches the Thames," Hogan started.

"Not a chance," I said. "It's guarded pretty tight. A few people could slip away but not many. And boats are noticeable."

"He is right, General."

Both of us looked at Philippe. "What?"

"You sounded like our friend LeBeau," Hogan said.

"Cooks like him, too, " I said. "Gov, I don't know how you think you can make an army here."

"The army is already here, Newkirk. I just need to find a way to release it. And to find my officers."

"What are me and Philippe here?" I demanded.

"You're my staff, my hands," he replied. "I can't do this without you. I need both of you."

"We are in," Philippe assured. Rob looked at me.

"You know I'm covering your back," I said. "That's my job." I didn't know what my face said but Rob smiled, a sweet smile I hadn't seen before-at least, never directed at me. After a minute, Philippe discreetly cleared his throat. "Sorry, mate," I said.

"I understand _l'amour_," Philippe said. "But you have an appointment, Pierre."

"Cor, that's right. Be back in a bit, Rob." I leaned over and kissed him quickly.

"Where are you going?" he blurted.

"Meeting a bloke. I'll be fine."

"Black market," Philippe said. I gave him a hard look, which he ignored.

"Peter?" Rob half stood.

"It's my job," I said. _He actually looks worried._

"Is this wise?"

"Rob, we need stuff. 'Sides, I'll get some names." I looked at him. "I'm fine, mate. Really."

"I'll go along."

"No," I denied.

"Peter..."

"No," I said.

"Newkirk..."

"No, Rob." I emphasized his first name. "My job."

His eyes changed, turning angry but also frightened. "Be careful," he finally said.

I nodded, gave him a smirk, and left.

I didn't like the fact that Peter left nor that he had actually told me no. Actually, that no startled me yet felt good in some ways. But I was not happy that he was doing something dangerous. "He is used to this," Philippe quietly said. "Pierre is very good at this."

"It's dangerous."

Philippe nodded. "Everything is dangerous here, Robert."

I frowned. I knew he was right. But Newkirk-Peter-was putting himself at risk and for what? "What is he getting?" I asked.

"Anything from vanilla to toilet paper. He has brought back schnapps, whiskey, chocolate-whatever he can. Medicine if possible. He works with Gilroy and sometimes free lance. It is extra cash, survival for us."

I took a deep breath. Philippe watched me. "Matthew used to go out at times," he said quietly. "With an attractive woman he had married." I stared at him. "She covered for us. I hated her and loved her at the same time. She made possible for Matthew to survive, to stay part of his family. You must trust him, Robert. He is cunning."

"And if he runs into Heider again?"

Philippe sighed. "Then he pays the price. I am glad you worry. Pierre has had no one worry about him for a long time, other than me. But he knows the risks."

He tilted his head. "You care for him?"

"I've always cared for him." I looked at Philippe. "I haven't been in love in years. But Peter..." I stopped and looked at my hands. "I could see myself with him. Like you and Matthew. Except, I don't share."

Philippe chuckled. "I did not share well either. At least, she never had sex with him."

I smiled. "Peter better not stray either."

Philippe laughed loudly. "You have not seen the way he looks at you. Do not worry about that!"


	9. Chapter 9

I stepped out into the night. Wind pushed at me and I pulled my old coat tight. I hadn't worn the new clothes yet except the boots and a sweater. Better to be old and ragged when doing this. To be bloody warm and full-I hadn't felt this way in a long while. I hurried along the street, darted up an old, disused staircase and then began moving along the rooftops. This was familiar to me-I had done this so often. Despite what Rob thought, I did get out of the Ghetto fairly frequently. I nicked things here and there, fenced items with Gilroy. I hadn't mentioned it to Rob because, of course, he would ask why I hadn't escaped. I had once-I tried not to remember what had happened when I had been caught. _England's the greatest country on Earth but we're still an island. Can't run far._ I jumped to the next roof. Soon I stood on the rain damp cobbles outside a nearby hospital. _Medicine tonight, maybe a few other items. _ I headed inside. Around ten minutes later, I hurried from the hospital, stolen doctor's bag stuffed with medical supplies and medicines. It had been a good night and I knew Gilroy would pay well for this.

I moved back towards the ghetto. I was about two blocks from it, near the gate, when I spotted a figure slouching my way. "Speak of the devil," I muttered. Gilroy strolled my way and I quickly looked around for his bully boys. Gilroy knew his business well. While I didn't trust him at all, he was fair enough for a crook. And he hated the Ghetto as much as anyone.

"Newkirk," he murmured.

"Gilroy. Have some medicine for you."

"This way," he said. He stepped over a few feet, into an alcove, and I let him look in the bag. He gave a shark's smile. "Not bad, old man."

"Not bad," I snorted.

"I 'ave a bunch of spices. I'll give you 50 quid and them."

I nodded. While I knew he'd make far more than that on the medicine, 50 quid wasn't anything to sneeze at. He reached in his pocket, pulled out crumpled bills and gave them to me. "Drop the spices off with Philippe," I said, shoving the fifty quid deep in my sock.

"Fair enough. Nice boots." Gilroy tilted his head. "I heard you picked up some Yank."

"None of your business," I said. "I steal for you, Gilroy, I don't bloody shag for you."

He laughed then both of us wheeled at a whistle. Gilroy and I took off running. I stopped as a familiar figure shouted at me and a gunshot rang through the air. Cold tremors swept through me. "What are you doing out after hours?"

My gaze flicked over Heider and the corporal beside him. I exhaled. _I almost made it_. Heider reached out and touched my cheek. "You are breaking curfew, schwele. Again. You are not very smart." Heider unbuckled his belt. "On your knees," he ordered. "That American General is not here now. " _No, I can't ruddy do this. Not again. _I felt my knees shake. Heider reached out and grabbed my hair. My knees hit the cobbles so hard, I felt the bruises already forming. Heider yanked my head forward. I gasped, smelling the wet wool and leather of Heider's uniform. "Good boy," Heider said. "You know what to do."

I felt my shaking knees spread throughout my entire body. I knew what would happen next and I also knew the corporal beside Heider would take his turn as well. A snapshot of Rob on his knees flashed through my mind and I felt shame. _He never would have submitted to this. What have I become?_

I then felt my knife resting on my back.

I didn't know how I got the knife in my hand, only the widening of Heider's eyes as I rammed the knife into his stomach. Blood drenched my hand and the smell of copper filled my nostrils as I lunged to my feet, twisted the knife and then yanked it out, ripping up as I did so. I spun and sank the blade in the corporal's neck, ignoring the geyser of blood. He fell with a dull thud and I turned immediately back to Heider, who sank slowly to the ground, black gloved fingers clenching his stomach. Thick gouts of blood spilled over the leather. I looked him over and realized there was no hope of him surviving.

A nearby thump and I turned to see another German falling to the cobbles. Dark blood banded his neck. I looked around frantically. Gilroy suddenly appeared with his two bully boys, a garrotte in his hand. "Gilroy?" I blurted.

"Bloody fine mess 'ere." Gilroy gave Heider a hard kick as the German scrabbled in agony. "Filthy Kraut."

"But why..." I stammered.

"I hate Krauts, I hate Heider, and besides, it was nice to see someone give these bastards what they deserve. But now what? My men can hide the bodies. I can always use the guns."

I glanced at the corpses and hastily frisked the men. I pulled out the papers and wallets, shoved Heider's sidearm in my pocket and nodded to Gilroy. The men dragged off the bodies. "Thanks."

"You're wel-"

We both twisted as the distant thunder of trucks hit our ears. We looked at each other. "It's too early," Gilroy whispered, horror in his eyes. I saw the nose of the lead truck appear in the street.

"They're coming," I replied. "We have to warn the others..."

I headed for the Ghetto, Gilroy behind me.

On the rooftops we both stopped, looked at the trucks. "There's too many," Gilroy muttered. "What the 'ell...?"

I began shaking. "It'll be a massive cull," I said. "Rob. Oh, god, Rob." Gilroy grabbed me.

"We have some time," he said. "I'll warn the women. You warn your side."

"Got it."

I took off running.


	10. Chapter 10

Philippe and I both looked at the shaggy black and white pony who looked back at us curiously. Perseus tilted his head. "He's so little," I said, rubbed the star on the pony's forehead. A long pink tongue wrapped around my wrist.

"He is a Shetland pony," Philippe said. "He is supposed to be little." He patted Perseus's neck. "Let us get some coffee, Robert."

In the bakery kitchen, we drank coffee, talked about simple things. When the door opened, a reek of blood entered before Newkirk did. "Oh, God," I said, jolting up. Peter entered, splotched with blood. "Call a doctor!"

"Not mine. Rob, you 'ave to go. It's a culling."

Philippe turned white. "What?" I asked.

"Culling, culling." Peter grabbed my arm. "Go, go! Get to your office!"

"Wait a minute. Take this from the top."

Peter exhaled, terror in his eyes. "Culling," he said. "Usually 'appens once every two months or so. The Krauts pull all of us out into the street, take certain ones away."

"To where?"

"No one knows. No one has come back."

I inhaled._ That's bad. _"Why?"

"They take any women who may be pregnant," Philippe said. "And men who fit certain criteria."

"Like what?" I demanded.

"It always changes," Philippe said. "One time it was blond, young men over two meters. Another time, men with certain shoulder and chest measurements. Always those with deformities like a hunched back or club foot. Pierre and I have managed to avoid being chosen or been hidden."

"No chance of that tonight," Newkirk said. "They 'ave over six trucks. Rob, you need to go!" I watched Philippe pale when Peter said six trucks.

"Wait, wait. I am not leaving you two here."

"You have no choice." Philippe's fingers tightened. "Over six trucks-that is a massive cull, Robert. And you could be selected."

"And you two?"

"We will take our chances."

I snorted. "We're all in this, Peter. I will be fine. Beside, maybe I can stop this. Would they take any of you if an American General was there watching?" Hope filled Philippe's eyes while Peter's face turned stormy with anger.

"Too big a chance." Peter shook his head. "Rob, you need to leave."

"Pierre, he is right. Even the Boche would not cull us in front of him."

"And if they attack him? Strip him and find that brand? Hell, what if someone mentions he's been with me? He'll been at risk!"

"I'll be fine," I said. "What about the blood?"

Peter swallowed. "Heider," he said.

I inwardly stiffened. "What happened?" He inhaled and I saw a familiar gleam enter his eyes, one I hadn't seen since Stalag 13. "The truth, Peter."

"I'm 'urt, gov! Do you think I'd lie to you?"

"No but I know you'll misdirect. What happened?" I used my 'no bullshit' voice.

"Nothing major," he said.

"Is Heider alive?" I asked.

Peter looked at me and the brightness in his eyes faded. "No."

"What happened?"

"I stabbed him."

"What?" Philippe blurted. "You must leave Pierre! Now! When that body is found, they will tear you apart!"

"There are three bodies and Gilroy's hid them," Peter replied. "And I didn't kill all three."

"You stabbed and killed Heider," I said. "Why?"

He glanced at me, then at the floor. Philippe glanced quickly at me. Fury poured through me along with sick disgust. _My God, Heider attacked him. Again. _

"I was tired," Peter said. "And I had 50 quid I didn't want to lose."

"All tight, let's work on one disaster at a time. First, Peter, get cleaned up and I'll wash your clothes. Do the rest of the Ghetto residents need to be warned?"

"Already done." Peter headed upstairs. I followed him after Philippe tilted his head.

In the flat, Peter stripped hurriedly. I noted fresh bruises on his slightly swollen knees and inhaled. "What did he do?" I asked softly, trying not to choke with rage.

"Nothing," he muttered. "He didn't force me, gov. "

"Not this time," I snapped.

His cheeks turned dark and he stared at the floor. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I should have fought..."

The lightning bolt of comprehension should have turned me to an ember. "God, Peter, no!" I grabbed his shoulders. _He thinks I blame him! _"This isn't your fault!" He looked at me with shadows in his green blue eyes. I gave him a shake. "You didn't ask for any of this."

"I shouldn't 'ave let him touch me. Anyone else would have..."

"You are not to blame," I said. I pulled him into my arms. "Peter, I'm glad he's dead."

"Rob, you need to leave. Get out so this cull doesn't touch you."

"I'll be fine. Go, shower." He slowly walked into the shower. As he began cleaning himself, I grabbed the boots, ragged coat and pants, both drenched in blood. A Luger thudded to the floor along with papers. I flipped through the papers. ID papers, notes, and a small notebook. I sighed. "Code. Of course."

Newkirk emerged from the shower a few minutes later while I scrubbed the coat and pants. "Could have tossed those pants," he said. He smelled of lavender soap, a smell that made me smile because it seemed so feminine.

"It came out. Your boots are clean."

"Thanks." He looked awkward. "You didn't need to-I mean-"

"We're a team, Peter. I know this is the strangest romance either of us have had-hell, strangest romance ever-I usually don't woo this way but I want this."

Newkirk gave me a weird smile then leaned over and kissed me firmly. "I want this," he whispered. "I really want you to live, mate, more than anything."

"Both of us."

Peter sighed, dressed. "They search the Ghetto pretty thoroughly."

"I'll wait with Perseus." I lightly smacked his shoulder. "I'll be OK."

He swallowed hard and surprise ran through me at the fear in his eyes. "Take care of yourself," he ordered.

"You too."


	11. Chapter 11

I stood near Perseus, watching the pony pull at his hay. His ears flicked constantly and suddenly he lifted his head. looking at the door. I could hear feet outside, boots thudding on the cobblestones and stairs. Doors slammed and I winced at the sound of distant screams. None came from Peter or Philippe-I knew their voices and these voices sounded feminine. I rubbed Perseus' head and walked to the barn door.

It swung open as two soldiers burst in. Perseus snorted loudly and I looked at the men. "Halt! Get outside, faggot!

I blinked for a moment. _An American? What the hell? _"I'm a cigarette?" I asked.

Both soldiers looked at each other. "Raus!" the other soldier snapped. "Outside with the others."

"As you wish." I walked towards them. The taller of the pair, the American, a blond with piercing dark eyes, grabbed my arm. "Easy."

"Shut up, pervert."

"General pervert, Sergeant," I snapped.

Both men stopped, exchanging looks of puzzlement and confusion. "What are you talking about?" the other, a corporal, asked in accented English. _A German and an American? Curious._

"I'm General Hogan of the US Army Air Force. I'm here on Red Cross inspection duties. Is there a problem?"

Their faces turned the color of curdled milk. "Do you have papers?" the American Nazi asked.

"Yes," I said, pulling out my papers. "Who is your commander, Sergeant?"

"Major Dietrich," the Sergeant replied, flipping through my papers. He handed them back to me and saluted. "I am sorry, General. May I ask why you are here?"

"No. I will talk to your commander, Sergeant. Corporal, leave the pony alone."

The corporal moved away from Perseus. I strode past the sergeant. In the murky darkness, I spotted numerous lights and the shrieks echoed far more loudly. Wails and curses filled the air and I stopped as I spotted a woman being dragged by her hair. "Stop that!" I yelled. The corporal ran past me, pulled the woman to her feet. She straightened up and I recognized Bess. She stared at me blankly then stared daggers at the man who'd been dragging her.

The sergeant gestured. "This way," he said. I followed him around a corner and inhaled despite myself.

Row after row of naked men and women stood facing a score of German soldiers, many holding snarling dogs. The night certainly wasn't warm-I wore a heavy overcoat and still felt the damp. To imagine being stood on wet cobbles made my feet ache. An imposing Major strolled among the rows, tapping people occasionally with a riding crop. Klink flashed into my mind for a second or two until the Major slashed a woman across her breasts.

I scanned the rows as the Sergeant ran to the Major. A glimpse of shaggy dark hair and I spied Peter, staring straight ahead, eyes glittering. My heart sank yet unlike so many others, he didn't seem embarrassed by his nakedness, rather enraged. I noted several men being shoved on a truck. I didn't see Philippe. I looked up as the Major appeared in front of me. "General?"

I nodded. "I'm General Hogan."

The blue eyes opened a tiny bit and the Major saluted. "General Hogan, an honor. I did not expect you here. I am Major Dietrich."

"I am here to investigate everything, Major. What is this?"

"We are rounding up some of the rabble. Nothing to worry about."

"To go where? And why are they unclothed?"

"Any pregnant women are taken to hospital. And the others-just some testing." Dietrich shrugged.

"You have a lot of trucks," I commented.

"Just a precaution."

"Carry on then. I will, however, want the list."

Dietrich's left eye twitched. "List, sir?"

"I want all the names. Every man, every woman. And an explanation of how each woman became pregnant."

"General?"

"They are lesbians, Major. Why would they be pregnant? They don't have sex with men. Not willingly at least. The Ghetto male residents are interested in men. So who are the fathers?"

Dietrich, to his credit, looked confused. "Yes, General. A list."

"Before you go. And I want to know where each person goes, so I may check on them later." I felt gazes on me, heard shifting and rustlings.

Now the Major actually flinched. "Perhaps we should simply forget this," Dietrich said. "We need not bother with this test."

"I understand. Perhaps another position would suit you, Major. There are opening in the German Embassy in New York..."

"That sounds very intriguing, General. Sergeant Klaus, release the men and women."

"Herr Major, the Gestapo..."

"Will understand," Dietrich snapped. "Now!"

The soldiers slowly unloaded the Ghetto residents. "Perhaps you should dismiss the others," I suggested. "And then, Major, I would be delighted if you joined me for lunch today."

"An honor, herr General!"

"Be there at 1200 hours."

"Of course, herr General! Dismissed!"

I watched the Ghetto residents scatter, grabbing their clothes and disappearing. Major Dietrich saluted me and the Nazis began retreating. I waited until the last truck rolled away, breathing slowly.

"Who are you?"

I turned to look into Bess's face. Behind her ranged several Ghetto residents, many still dressing or pulling on shoes. "I am General Hogan," I said.

"But..."

"He's who he says he is." I felt my shoulders sag. _Peter_. Newkirk came up beside me. "We shouldn't be out in the open. Come on."

I glanced around. "Pick officers," I muttered and Newkirk stared. Then he nodded. I headed down the street, wondering exactly where I should go.

"This way," came a voice. From the darkness, Philippe waved a hand. I grinned. A group of about seven followed me. Philippe led the way to his bakery

I sat down at the table in the bakery, the aroma of baking bread making my mouth water. "When did you start the bread?" Bess asked.

"Before the word came of the culling."

"And who are you mate?"

I looked into the face of a lean man eyeing me. He had blue eyes and sandy hair and a measuring suspicion that reminded me of Peter. "I'm exactly who I said I am," I replied. "General Robert Hogan, US Army Air Corps. Red Cross liason." I smiled sunnily. "And Peter's lover."

The stranger jerked and Peter's voice drifted over. "That's Rob." He strolled over. "This is Gilroy." He began introducing the others. "Rob, meet Bess, Gilroy, Jack, Gregory, Lisa, Zack, and James."

"You're a Yank General and what do you want with us?" Gilroy looked at me then Newkirk.

I smiled. "I want to set us all free."

The silence gave me time to look at all the faces. "Let's start from the beginning," Lisa said, a hard faced woman with broad shoulders and cropped brown hair. A jagged scar bisected one cheek.

"I'm General Hogan," I said. "I came here for Newkirk. I want to take all of us out of here."

"You're a poof?" Gilroy asked, sitting down.

I rolled my sleeve up. "I am," I said, internally twinging. I did like women. But I liked men as well. And Peter...I didn't know what to call this but he meant the world to me. I felt him move closer to me.

"Well, what do you know mates?" Jack laughed. "Even a bloody Yank General likes English dick."

I felt my neck flush and heard a hiss from Peter. "Relax, _mes amis._ Mon General is right." Philippe placed mugs of coffee in everyone's hands. "He has a plan. And we will have a chance to escape."

"Sounds risky," Zack grunted. He was the only somewhat heavy set man I'd seen in the Ghetto. His dark gaze raked me. "Now what?"

"It is risky," I said. "Some of us will die." I stared at every person. "This is going to be hard. But we can at least be free. And not end up in those trucks."

They all looked at each other. Gilroy looked at me, then at Peter. "This is your bloody Rob," he said.

"Yes."

Gilroy shrugged. "I'm in," he said.


	12. Chapter 12

"What?" Lisa exclaimed.

Gilroy looked at her then each person around the table. "I watched a man get off his knees today. And this Yank saved us. I'm tired of ruddy allowing the Jerries to telling us what to do. And Newkirk says he's got the stuff."

"We're going to die in this ghetto," Philippe said.

"You don't know that," Gregory protested.

"Yes, we do," Bess said grimly. "You think any of those people culled are still alive?"

I watched everyone exchange looks. Peter stood behind me, his body heat warming me. "This man was your CO, wasn't he, Newkirk?"

"Yes." Newkirk laid his hand on my shoulder.

"No one escaped from that Stalag, if I'm right. Not a great recommendation." James, the only heavyset man I'd seen in the ghetto, eyeballed me coldly.

"He did a lot," Peter snapped.

"I have ideas. I have contacts," I said, wishing I could explain what we had done at Stalag 13. "And we need our freedom."

"You're not one of us," Jack muttered.

"He's one of us," Gilroy said. "He's shagging Newkirk, isn't he?"

To my surprise, I felt heat rising in my neck. While I certainly had no problem referring to Peter as my lover-at least here-I wasn't used to our relationship, as it was, put into such blunt terms. Gilroy glanced at me with laughter in his eyes. Newkirk's fingers tightened slightly on my shoulder. Lisa looked at me, her brown eyes assessing. "What do you have planned?" she asked. "Give me an idea."

"With my contacts, I would have weapons waiting. I have several hiding places planned out." I felt Newkirk's fingers quiver. "I have some back up plans as well."

She looked at me, then at Newkirk. "Newkirk, is he telling the truth?"

"Yes." Peter answered instantly. Lisa glanced at the hand still on my shoulder. Then she looked at me and nodded. "Tell us what you need."

"First we have to find out the weakest links on the Kraut side." I looked at Gilroy. "You go back and forth freely, right?"

"Somewhat," Gilroy said.

"So why hasn't anyone escaped?"

I felt the stiffening in the silence. Everyone looked at each other then Peter. "You haven't told him?" Gilroy asked incredously

"No, I 'aven't." Newkirk glared at Gilroy then looked at me. "The Krauts 'ave a plan for escapees. Catch us and you're beaten to a bloody pulp before your arse is tossed back inside. They also make a nice deep scar on your back. If you're caught a second time, the Krauts cut your Achilles tendon on your left leg, put scar number two on your back. And the third time..." Peter shrugged.

"What?" I demanded. _Peter has that long scar on his shoulder blade. I know he didn't have it at Stalag 13._

"What do they do the third time?"

"Ever hear of Vlad Tepes, mate?" Bess asked.

I looked at her then at the others. "Dracula?"

"The Impaler," Lisa said. "Seen that iron fence around the Ghetto?"

My mind flew back to the iron fence. Cast iron, tall, each post spiked. "They don't..." I started.

"They do. And they leave the corpses rot there until they're skeletons." Gilroy gave me a shark smile. "No one has tried it for awhile."

I felt the horror in my stomach. "Good, then they're not expecting us," I said lightly.

"This is ridiculous." Zack glared at me. "Does anyone seriously think we can escape? Led by a Yank, no less? Look, if we just behave, the Krauts will leave us alone."

"Really?" Bess snapped. "Tell that to Lucy. Tell that to almost every woman in the Ghetto!"

"And what good can you do?" James retorted.

"Enough," I ordered. "We have enough to fight without tearing into each other. And there's more than just us! Most of you are English, right? This is your country. Do you really want the Germans to run roughshod over it?"

"And you're a Yank."

"Who is one of us," Lisa snarled.

"And Newkirk's English enough for both of them," Gilroy said. "You don't want in, Jack, fine. But then you just keep your gob shut."

"And what, Gilroy?" Jack sneered. "What will you do?"

"You know what I'll do," Lisa said quietly. "I'll do that."

"Easy." I took control again. "No one has to join. But anyone not coming along will have to face the Krauts. Think about that. I will go out later today, meet with some important people who can help us."

"That is good," Philippe said. "We can meet here."

"We move meeting places around," I said. "It's risky for all of us to be seen together more than once or twice."

"How soon will anything happen?" Gilroy asked.

"Soon. The Krauts have a plan and I want to find out what they want from us besides our skins," I said.

"Fair enough," Lisa said. "Send word when you need us." She looked at Philippe. "Thank you, Philippe. And you, too, General." She paused as if embarrassed. "Thank you for saving us."

"You're welcome," I said. She wasn't attractive physically yet she was compelling. _Amazon warrior, _ I thought. She left and the others followed, only Gilroy pausing to wait with Philippe and Newkirk. I gazed, seeing so many elements of Peter in him. "Gilroy?"

"Newkirk wanted me to stay."

I looked at Peter who lifted one shoulder. "I don't trust 'im," Newkirk said. "But Gilroy knows his business. And people."

"Can you get guns?" I asked.

"Some," Gilroy warily replied. "Not many."

"All right. Good to know." I looked closely at Gilroy. "Do you know code?"

He cocked his head. "Not me. I know a bloke or two." He paced a few steps. "Can I see it?"

I let him leaf through the small notebook, watched him hand it to Philippe and Peter. "Can't understand a word," Gilroy said. ""And I know a fair bit of Kraut. Ol' Al probably does, though. He likes riddles and such."


	13. Chapter 13

"Al?"

"'E's a man been 'ere awhile," Newkirk said. "He like puzzles and such but not too fond of people."

"Can he figure out code?"

"If he can not, Robert, no one can," Philippe said. "He used to be a teacher."

"Can you take me to him?" I looked at Peter.

"Not really," Peter said. "See, old Al just never is at one spot-he's never caught in a culling and he always simply appears."

"So how do we find him?" I asked.

"Philippe," Gilroy said. "He's the only one Al trusts."

"He does not trust me," Philippe denied. "Not really. He simply comes to get some food." He looked at a small clock. "He should be here soon."

"Good," I said.

"Whatever you do, gov, don't mention you're an officer. In fact, best you don't seem military at all," Newkirk advised.

"He's right. Al doesn't much like the government." Gilroy poured himself another cup of coffee. "Hates government almost as much as he hates the krauts."

"Any particular reason why?"

"No one knows." Philippe swirled his coffee. "Al does not speak of his past at all. He is hardly unique in that."

"True," I said.

We ate a few rolls while I paced slightly. Philippe finally stood and made a rather large plate of sandwiches. "Sit, Robert," he said. "You appear nervous."

About 15 minutes later, a bony yet handsome individual came into the bakery, looking around warily. Philippe smiled. "Hello, Alan. How are you?"

"Fine, Philippe. I heard the culling was halted."

"It was. I found a book one of the Krauts dropped. Could you help me read it?"

"I could try." He looked over at us and I was surprised at the disturbing sharpness as he studied us. "Who's the new person?"

"That? A Yank tossed into the ghetto a few days ago. That's Robert, Pierre's new amour."

He kept looking at me. "You're an officer," he said calmly.

"I was," I said, sipping the last of my coffee. "I try not to remember those days."

"Fair enough," he said as Philippe handed him the codebook. He leafed through it and a smile flashed across his face. "This is code." He sat down and began reading, eating as he read. "May I have a pencil, Philippe?"

I watched him focus on the book. Peter and Gilroy talked quietly, almost more in gestures than in words. It only took an hour before the man's hand began hastily writing. "You can not broken the code already," Philippe said.

"Hardly an enigma." Al sipped his fresh coffee. "Thank you." He continue scribbling and then I saw his body tense. "Philippe, no one knows you have this?"

"Non. Save the men here."

"What is it, Al?" Gilroy asked. "Are the Jerries finally redecorating the ghetto? Cor, we could use some bright colors in here."

"Then I hope you like blood red, Gilroy." The man tossed down the book. "This is the plan for all of us."

"Which is?" Newkirk stood up, walked to me.

The man looked at him with mingle fury and fear in his eyes. "It's a removal plan. A selection process where certain ones are sent to medical camps, some to the front, and some simply shot and their bodies taken for dissection. No one left and the ghetto burned and razed."

I felt my stomach twist. We all looked at each other until Gilroy cleared his throat. "Guess you were right, Rob."

"About what?" Al asked sharply.

"I thought the culling meant people would be killed," I said calmly. "Does it say when?"

"In two weeks," Philippe said, reading the decoded words. "The Red Cross will be gone. And this is to be done before the wedding."

"King Adolph doesn't want any nasty queers in his way," Gilroy said.

"He'll never be King," Newkirk said. "Only a consort."

"Does it matter if his kid sits on the throne?" Gilroy retorted.

"It is not as if your Kings and Queens actually lead the government," Philippe reminded. Both Newkirk and Gilroy looked at him.

"They're still royalty," Gilroy said.

"And they're ours," Newkirk added.

"They don't care about us," Alan said. "And we will all be dead. I hope Elizabeth appreciates her wedding gift."

I looked at Peter. "It's not going to happen," I said. "We are getting out of here."

"How?" Alan said. "Who are you?"

"Someone who isn't going to die for the Krauts' amusement," I said. "Just don't count us among the dead yet."

Later that day, I headed to my office. Leaving Newkirk behind was hard, especially knowing what the future was for everyone here. "Be careful," Newkirk said, twisting a scarf in his hands. It was a shabby, grey scarf and I briefly wished it was LeBeau's red scarf. _Why are the Krauts doing this? And why are the other countries allowing it?_

"I will be." I kissed Peter hard. "I'll be back in a few hours. Watch yourself." I breathed in the smell of baking bread.

"Come back a different route."

I nodded and kissed him again. It was harder, harder than I thought. Had he been a woman , I would hold him close, murmur sweet promises. But he was Peter and he didn't believe in promises. But he believed in me. That was so much sweeter-and more frightening.

Back in my office, I slipped into General mode and did paperwork and reports. At lunchtime, I strolled outside and smiled when I spotted an average man eating fish and chips from the inevitable newspaper. I gave an order for the same and glanced at him. "How are they?"

"Not bad." He handed me a napkin. "What's a Yank doing in London?"

"Here for the wedding," I replied. He nodded. I paid for my food and breathed in the aroma. I walked towards the park, ignoring the light drizzle and chilly air. The man I'd spoken to wandered the same direction. Once inside the park gates, I gave him a sidelong look. "Hello, Nigel," I said warmly.

"Rob. Good to see you, you crazy blighter. Why are you here?" Nigel grinned. Nigel and I went way back. Like me, he had trained to be a pilot. unlike me, his enormous capacity for intelligence work and covert operations had been discovered early and he'd been swiftly taken from the sky.

"Red Cross-Armed Forces joint venture."

Nigel walked closely, thumped my shoulder. "God, mate, you look good." I felt my spirits lift. Nigel and I understood each other.

"You don't look bad, either. How have you been?" He shrugged. "Is Schuberg around?"

"Can be," he said. He looked around. "Spill it, Rob. This is the best place we'll get."

"I have people ready to attack the Krauts," I said. "From within. I need weapons and boats to get them to France or Russia."

Nigel looked at me with his sharp gaze. He was the most observant man I ever knew, always watchful. "Are you daft?' he asked calmly. "What people?"

"The ghetto."

"The Pink Ghetto?" he blurted, eyes widening. "The homophiles?"

"They're ready," I said hurriedly.

"They're pansies, Robert. What do think they could do?"

"Many are former soldiers," I said, biting into a piece of fish. "All they need is a chance. And the Krauts will never expect it."

"That's true. Those men are sick and broken, Rob! Whatever makes you think they could fight?"

"I've been in the Ghetto. Those men can fight and fight hard, Nigel."

"Why are you in the Ghetto?" he demanded.

"I'm part of the Red Cross-Armed Forces venture."

"I know that. You aren't actually still observing them, are you? Lord, they're faggots, Rob!"

"Stop it," I snapped. "They're people just like you and I!"

He stared at me and then he paled. "Not you," he groaned. "Tell me it isn't you. You can't be gay, Rob!"

"Gay?" I blurted. "I thought only Hollywood used that term."

"Damn it, don't try to cover this!" Nigel's hands clenched. "You are better than this, not like them. You were a bomber pilot, a s-" His mouth snapped shut. "You aren't like them!"

"I am," I said. "So either betray me, Nigel, or help me." that hit him like a punch. Nigel didn't have many close friends and I knew I was taking full advantage of him. _Too bad. I need you_.

He spun in a circle. "Damn you," he hissed. "This isn't as easy as you think! Homophiles are ill, sick, sad little men..." He looked around.

"_We're_ not. Don't you hate the Krauts more than the queers?"

"Of course. But they're not normal," he snapped.

"I seem to recall a drunken confession about some Oxford antics," I reminded.

His jaw clenched. "School buggerings don't count. They are games for stupid young men," he said angrily. He pushed his hand through his hair while I continued to eat. "What do you want, Rob?"

"I told you."

"When?" he asked.

"Soon. The Krauts plan on razing the ghetto in two weeks."

Nigel jolted. "Where did you hear that?"

"Got a codebook from the Krauts."

"You suck at code."

"There's a man in the ghetto who broke it. And quick, too."

Nigel frowned. "And just how did he do it?"

"I have no idea. Al said it was hardly an enigma."

Nigel's entire body tensed and he grabbed my arm. "Al?" he asked hoarsely. "Brunette, brown eyes? About six feet tall?"

I nodded. "You know him?"

"Of him," Nigel rasped. "He was decoding Enigma." I stared at him. "Enigma! The Krauts coding machine. Top, top secret! If this is the same Alan..."

"You put one of your top secret decoders in the Ghetto?"

"Hardly!" Nigel released my arm. "He disappeared. I wondered where he could be. Gods, how could he be there?"

"Because he's a faggot?" I said.

"He's a bloody genius, mate. I don't care if he's buggering horses...Alan is brilliant. And knows secrets. If the Krauts ever suspected..."

"So we're not so bad then?"

Nigel tossed up his hands. "I already agreed to help you, Rob. We're going to all die, you know." He looked around. "Then again, that means I won't ever have to see Hitler's portrait on a quid note."

"Let's walk," I said. "Can you get into the Ghetto?"

He slowly nodded. "Schuberg can. I'll be there tonight."


	14. Chapter 14

I spent the afternoon again with paperwork and phone calls, trying not to worry about Nigel, Peter, or anything else. As the sun disappeared behind clouds and I spotted snow whirling around the office windows. I finished a few last calls and pulled on my warm overcoat. Soon I walked though another gate into the ghetto, surprised to encounter very considerate guards. The reason came clear as I walked through the snow and heard rapid fire, pleading German and a cold, icy reply.

A Gestapo Colonel stood in front of two guards while another writhed on the ground, blood spilling from his knee. "I repeat," the Oberst repeated, sounding bored. "What are your names? I am certain your bravery will be rewarded on the Russian front."

I winced. Nigel in Gestapo mode frightened everyone, even me. Cool, ruthless, brutal-I glanced around to see what had caught his attention. A coarse looking woman stood against the wall, clothes stained but not disarrayed. She caught my eye and then left, scurrying down a street.

I left Nigel to his Gestapo savagery. He caught up to me around 20 minutes later, dusting his gloves. "Pigs," he said shortly.

"Is the woman all right?"

"They never got a chance to rape her if that's what what you mean. Lord. I had no idea this was this bad."

"Do you come here often?"

"No."

"You should."

"I have a monthly visit to Auschweitz. That's enough."

We walked through snow. I led the way to the bakery. When Peter appeared, clad in black and wearing an even darker scowl, I held up a hand. "Who's this?" Peter demanded.

Nigel (damn the man), clicked his heels together and nodded sharply. "Oberst Karl Schuberg," he said in perfect German. "And you?"

"He's one of us," I said. "He's all right, Newkirk."

Newkirk nodded. I saw him shudder as the snow came down because he hadn't pulled on his coat. "Does he speak English?"

"Quite well, actually," Nigel replied. "Who is this, Robert?"

Newkirk's eyebrows rose and I winced. "Inside," I said. In the bakery, Philippe sat with Gilroy and Alan while May swept the floor. The second May saw Nigel, she froze and my stomach dropped at the pure terror in her eyes. Nigel, to his credit, ignored her and walked directly to Alan. "Doctor," he said.

Alan's eyes widened. "He has done nothing wrong!" Philippe protested.

"He's OK," Newkirk blurted. "He's one of us."

Nigel took off his hat. "It's a honor, sir. I met you several years ago. I only wish I had known sooner where you were. We would have made arrangements to get you out of Britain."

"Who are you?" Alan asked lowly.

"My name is Nigel. We worked for the same people once though in vastly different fields."

Alan's gaze hardened. Then he looked at me and Philippe. "What are you planning?" he asked me.

"A way for us to live."

"And Nigel here is essential?"

"Very," I said. "And he's on our side despite the Nazi regalia."

"Looks well suited to him," Gilroy said.

Nigel looked at him and I stepped forward. "Nigel, this is Gilroy, Philippe, May, and Newkirk. You know Alan. Gilroy will probably work closest with you other than me. He's in supply, you could say."

Nigel nodded, studying Gilroy. Newkirk stepped over to me, looked at me curiously. "Luv?" he asked very softly.

"Trust me," I said.

Nigel looked at me. "So what are you planning?" he asked.

I glanced at May then Philippe. He nodded. "I have several ideas. I need people who can speak at least a little German. if we hold a mock culling, we can get the Ghetto residents fairly easily to a transport boat."

"Where are we getting the boat?" Gilroy asked.

"Nigel can help with that," I said.

Nigel frowned but it was thoughtful. "Possible. How many people are in the ghetto?"

"About 400 or so," Newkirk said. "100 women more or less, the rest blokes."

"It'll have to be a big ship." Nigel sat down, musing over ideas. "How many are on this trip to the Resistance? Is everyone determined to go?"

"Once this starts, no one can stay behind," I said.

"Just how is this Gestapo colonel going to get us a boat?" Gilroy asked skeptically.

"By stealing it," Nigel said curtly. "Can anybody here forge?"

I grinned. "Newkirk is the best," I said.

Nigel's eyes widened. "Newkirk!" he blurted. "This is your Newkirk! Forgive me, I didn't make the connection."

Peter looked at me. "He's in?" he asked obscurely.

"I said he was one of us."

"In more ways than one." Peter grinned. "It's OK, Nigel. The gov 'ere never mentioned you."

"Can we stop talking in riddles?" Gilroy snapped.

"Nigel is a topnotch spy," I said.

"So you're not really Gestapo?" Alan asked.

"I am Gestapo," Nigel said. "And I am British. Thank you for outing me, Robert. I am, indeed, a mole. At this time, the Krauts don't know. I'd prefer it stay that way."

"Jerries are dumber than we think," Gilroy said. "Who can't tell he's not a toff?"

Nigel eyeballed him again but looked at Alan, who appeared to eyeing the door. "Dr., I can take you away tonight."

"Hold on, who says you get to take Al?" Gilroy bristled.

"I do," Nigel snapped.

"He does not trust you," Philippe said.

"He is very smart," Nigel said. He turned to Alan. "Doctor, I know you don't know me. But please, I can get you out of the country."

I inhaled slightly. Alan looked at Nigel and shook his head. "You might mean well," he said. "but I'll leave with others."

Nigel nodded. "As you wish, doctor." He looked at me. "So the culling transport is a good idea. And I have an idea for weapons."

I looked at Nigel. He smiled. "There's a transport of guns going to the Fatherland," he said. "I know the route."

"Heavily guarded," I said.

"Some. If we can coordinate attacks, get it and also get to a ship on the same night, it'd be useful."

"What ship?" Philippe asked.

"I have to look at the manifests."

"You have a lot of power," Gilroy remarked. In his voice I heard open skepticism. "Just how can you do this? You can't bloody steal a ship."

"I can, however, convince the Captain to take the ship where I want," Nigel said. "I have contacts."

"You're just a colonel. We'll be torpedoed or shot."

"I said it would be planned." Nigel's tone began flattening, a sure sign of annoyance.

"And I haven't seen a gun shipment yet that wasn't guarded."

"I assume you can fight," Nigel replied. "And nothing is yet set in stone."

"Good thinking. Can we maybe plan something that could work?"

Nigel's face smoothed into blankness. I stepped in. "I welcome any new ideas," I said. "But don't disregard anything, Gilroy. We have to get ready to move and quickly."

"May I see the codebook?" Nigel asked Alan. Philippe handed it to him. Nigel read swiftly and I read over his shoulder. "I should have guessed," Nigel sighed. "Mengele."

I looked at him. "Who's he?" Newkirk asked.

"A doctor." Nigel handed me the book and sat down. "Researcher and torturer is a more apt description. He will love having new subjects to test. And dissect."

"And how do you know this?" Gilroy demanded.

"I am an Oberst. I do have some connections," Nigel said.

"You sound awfully confident."

I stepped in again, inwardly cursing. Nigel had a temper and I didn't want it unleashed. "Stop it," I ordered.

Gilroy looked at me. "Look, if I have to work with this stiff arsed Nazi wannabe..."

"Nigel knows what he's doing," I said. "Look, this is our only chance. We can modify the plan but we can't doubt each other."

"He's right." Newkirk spoke up. "Give ol' Nigel a chance, Gilroy."

I saw Nigel's neck muscles tense. Then he looked at me and stayed silent. "Fine," Gilroy said. "Can you get some guns?"

"I thought that was your role," Nigel retorted. At Gilroy's bristling, he waved a hand. "I can get a few." He then looked at Philippe. "May I purchase some bread?"

"Of course. Sit, everyone. May, can you make some coffee, please?"

We all sat down. May scurried over with bread and mugs. Nigel sipped his coffee, casually slipped a small packet of Deutschmarks and pound notes to Philippe.

"This is far too much," Philippe said.

"Keep it. You can use it," Nigel said. "So let's all plan."


	15. Chapter 15

I listened, tried to feel out each player. Newkirk stayed unusually quiet but we all shared ideas, tried to solidify plans. Nigel and Gilroy practically sparked off each other. I continually stepped in, tried to stop the inevitable. Nigel finally sighed, checked his watch. "I need to leave soon. I have people to transfer to the Russian front."

"Who?' Philippe asked.

"Several guards. One is hopefully dying of his leg wound but I imagine he'll survive."

"Do you know their names?" Philippe asked.

"Lt. Wolfgang Holtz, Corporal Adolph Wehner, Corporal Guntar Weinz."

I didn't miss all the widening eyes nor Peter's small smile. Then I caught May's pale face. She stood, rigid and trembling, a look of mingled relief and terror on his face. I knew Nigel saw her yet he showed nothing. Philippe laughed aloud. "_Tres Bien!_ A good job, indeed!"

"You knew them?"

"They're our bloody keepers, what do you think?" Gilroy snapped. "Of course we know them."

"Make a list," Nigel said. "I can probably shake up the men here, bring in some I know who are lazy and easily distracted."

I glanced sidelong at Peter and my fingers curled into fists. Like May, he was pale. Unlike her, he simply had a blank face. Then I looked away. _How many people in this hellhole hadn't been assaulted? Were all the German guards here monsters? _"Are you coming Robert?"

"Not yet. I'll see you later this morning, Nigel. Come to my office. And get some sleep."

"Very well." Nigel studied Peter again. "Watch over him, please, Newkirk. You know how he is."

"It's me job." Newkirk smiled.

Nigel looked at me. "Is there a place I can wash up?"

I glanced at Peter who shrugged and gestured. "This way,"he said. He led Nigel to his flat and I looked at Gilroy and Alan. "I hope you'll help us, Doctor," I said.

"It intrigues me. And I want to get out."

"Gilroy, Nigel is risking his life too."

Gilroy snorted. "He's a stuck up toff. but I'll treat him with kid gloves. I hope you're not betting the farm on him and his abilities."

"I have back up plans. But I am counting on him as much as I am you."

"Then we're all dead mate."

"Stop," Philippe ordered. "Gilroy, we can not tear each other apart."

"I said I was in, Philippe. I have to check my people." i saw the gleam in his eyes and inwardly cringed.

"Don't follow Nigel," I warned. "He'll kill you."

"I'm not an idiot."

I gave up, headed upstairs where Nigel pulled on his overcoat. Peter stood awkwardly, shooting me an unreadable look. A faint flush of pink touched his cheeks and ears. "You chose well," Nigel said.

"What?"

Nigel smiled a little. "I'll see you later."

"Be careful," I said.

"I will." He then did something out of character for him-he hugged me quickly, roughly, then left before I could do more than gape.

"He's a bit screwy." Peter stretched. "But he'll do, I suppose."

"He's very good at what he does." I sank down onto the worn sofa.

"Get some sleep," Peter said. "You're all done in."

"What about you?"

"I 'ave a few things to do downstairs yet. Philippe still has to open and I need to help."

"I can help."

"Just get some sleep," Peter ordered. "We'll be all right."

"What did Nigel say to you?" Peter blushed.

"He just poked a little about you. He's worried." Peter shifted weight from foot to foot. "Is he an old beau of yours?"

My jaw practically unhinged. "What?"

"Just a question. It'd explain some things."

I got up, hugged Peter who rolled his eyes and pushed me away gently. "Nigel is only a friend. An old friend but just a friend. He's not even a homosexual."

Peter stiffened. "What?"

"He's just a friend."

"You said he was one of us!"

I didn't understand the sudden rage. "He is."

"Not if he's not like us. Ruddy hell, Rob, you said he was _one of us!_ Of course I thought-and everyone else does-that he was a homosexual."

"He's one of us in the respect he's with us. What does it matter?"

Peter's glare drove me back a step. "Why do you think?" he asked. "The only reason people here are willing to trust you, Rob, is you're homosexual. You may be a toff but you're one of us. You honestly think anyone here trusts someone who isn't like us?"

I breathed in slowly. God I was an idiot. I hadn't thought about it. But Peter had a point. "Nigel is a connection," I said. "I'm using any number of them. And most aren't homosexual, Peter."

"I understand that," he retorted. "I'm not a fool. But you brought this one here. Into our home."

"This isn't a home. It's a death camp."

"It's all we have!"

I slowly approached him. "I'm sorry," I started.

"I told you this plan was bloody insane! You can't expect the people here to trust someone who isn't one of us!"

"I won't tell them," I said.

Peter's groan echoed. "Not tell them? And is your friend going to understand that? if someone flirts with him, can he act?"

"There's no flirting in the Ghetto that I've seen."

"You know what I mean!"

"He can handle it."

"Then you better tell him. And hope he can act." He yanked on his coat. "I'll be downstairs a bit."

"He wants to help us, Peter."

"He wants to help you, Rob. And there's a whale of a difference between that and helping us."

"He wants to do the right thing."

"Right thing?" Peter's snort of derision made me wince. "They're not like us. Think any of those heterosexuals give a damn? Who do you think put us here?"

"The Nazis did, not heterosexuals."

"And the other countries went right along. The Nazis have help, mate. From every blasted person who simply looks aside and does nothing. Heterosexuals aren't like us."

"And LeBeau, Carter, Kinch? All the men at Stalag 13?"

"Don't see them here, do you Rob?"

"They'd be here if they could. Carter went to Russia. LeBeau is fighting in France."

Peter looked out the window into the grimy night. "Maybe," he finally said. "Just-don't get too trusting, all right?"

"All right."

He kissed me quickly then walked downstairs. I stripped, flopped down on the battered mattress and pulled the blankets close. So much here I hadn't seen, hadn't expected. Peter had been damaged in so many ways I never thought about. Then again, what did I expect from him or anyone here?

I rolled over and tried to sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

I woke with Peter curled beside me. I ran my hand over his shoulders and back, noting again the scar down his shoulder blade. A deep furrow, it was straight and clean. Most likely a knife wound. Gently I touched it, ran fingers across the slick surface. "That tickles," Peter mumbled.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right." He yawned and again I noted how his bones showed clearly under his skin. I pulled him close, breathed in his scent of lavender soap and shampoo, a scent I never thought to associate with him. He shivered and arched against me. "I wish we could but I think you 'ave to get to the office." I nodded against his neck. Peter stood up and I followed suit. "I'll take care of Philippe and the Ghetto, " he said in a forced cheery tone.

"I will come back, Peter." I kissed him, wished I could take him with me.

"I trust you," he said.

I nodded and dressed. Peter looked uneasy as he pulled on his pants. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"We 'aven't any coffee. Sorry."

"I'll get some at the office. And bring some back."

"Isn't it risky you coming 'ere all the time?"

"It is," I calmly said. "It's all right for now."

"We'll have to move soon, Rob. Somebody is going to be suspicious."

"We will."

"Think Nigel will help?"

"I do," I said. He nodded and kissed me. "Get some sleep," I said.

I wanted to say "I love you." I wasn't sure how to say such words. Or how Peter would accept them. All I really knew is he was a part of me. I needed him. So I took the coward's way out, spoke in a language I knew Peter didn't speak. "I love you," I said in Lakota. Years ago, I'd met an officer who was half Sioux. He'd taught me some of the language, mainly through songs.

Peter tilted his head. "What?"

"Nothing, Peter. Just be careful."

I knew I'd see Nigel. Sure enough he found me at lunch. He wore his unofficial Gestapo "uniform"-crisp white shirt, pressed jacket and dark slacks and well made shoes along with the Nazi armband. "Herr General," he greeted me. "A pleasure. May I sit?"

"if you must," I said. Yet I felt a smile pull at my lips. "May I have your name, Colonel...?"

"Schuberg."

We ate and discussed small things, typical discourse of two distrustful supposed allies. "I have been temporarily assigned to help supervise the homosexual district," Nigel said. "I am honored to work with you."

I looked at him in surprise. "What happened to Captain Schmidt?" The young German Captain had been useful in the respect that he often disappeared with his girlfriend and left me alone.

"The Captain has been offered an incomparable opportunity to serve the Fatherland," Nigel said. "He will lead a Panzer division."

I winced. The Panzer divisions' primary job currently was to try to stop the Soviets. The Krauts were learning, albeit slowly, that the blitzkrieg did little good in hip deep snow or swampy mud. While I didn't feel sorry for the Nazis, Panzer jobs were usually death sentences. "I welcome the chance to work with you," I said.

"And I you. Come, I will walk you through the district after lunch."

I nodded. We returned to my office where I retrieved a small duffel and then went to the ghetto gates. The sunlight didn't lift the oppressive pall over the ghetto. The few residents not in the factories didn't look at us-in fact, they frankly fled at the sight of us. "Poor bastards," Nigel said softly. "Rob, do you think they can fight?"

"Don't worry about that," I said. "They can fight."

"I have a line on a ship. We have to think of a way to transport everyone, however. Plans call for over a third of the ghetto residents to be slaughtered here."

I felt my heart stutter. "What?"

"Anyone over 40, in poor health, infirm, and more." Nigel didn't look at me. "The Nazis are completely purging the Ghetto." He finally looked over and I was struck by the absolute blankness in his face.

"Why?"

"You need a reason?" Nigel cocked an eyebrow. "Lord, Rob, the Jerries believe they're doing people a favor. They're cleansing the world of perverts."

I moved, grabbed Nigel's collar. "We're not perverts!"

His face now revealed shock. "What the bloody hell? I'm on your side, remember?"

"You hate us too!"

Nigel carefully removed my hands. "I don't hate you. Or any of the people I've met here. Well, maybe that mouthy bastard Gilroy."

"It sure doesn't seem to bother you!" I glared at Nigel, wanting something to break that damn composure.

"If you want me to weep or wring my hands or scream with rage, I can't oblige you," Nigel said. "All I can do is what I am doing. Don't make bloody light of this, Rob. You have your lover. All I get out of this is a torture session that will make a day in the Ghetto look like Paradise."

I stilled. He was right. As a mole, if Nigel's current role and past as a British agent ever came to the forefront, his fellow Gestapo agents would use techniques I couldn't even conceive. "I'm sorry."

"Accepted."

"You can be a cold bastard, Nigel."

He squinted at me in an odd manner. "I don't have much choice," he finally said.

I silently cursed myself. In Stalag 13, my men and I had risked our lives yet we at least had each other, the other men in camp and the Underground to help. Nigel specialized in working alone. One of the reasons he trusted so few and had, literally, a handful of friends. A horrifying thought hit me. "Nigel, how many agents went down when England fell?"

"When the Irish drove a sword through our spine, you mean? As far as I know, I'm the only mole left."

"God."

"Other agents are around. They fled or joined the Canadians or hid. Our military intelligence is still around, just underground. I'm the only one I know who still has his cover and who uses it."

"Do you still report in?"

Nigel shrugged. "I get word now and then." He looked up at one of the buildings. "We're being watched."

"Ours or theirs?"

"Ours."

I nodded. We paced the streets, stopping occasionally at one of the few open shops. I both relished the hate that shone in the shopkeepers' eyes when they saw Nigel and ached at the fear. They answered routine questions in monotones or quick, evasive answers. When we stopped at the bakery, Philippe and May each stiffened but then Philippe relaxed, "Bon jour, gentlemen."

"Hello," I said. "Philippe, I brought some things." I handled him the duffel.

"Thank you, Robert."

I glanced around. There was no one else in the bakery. "He's fine," Philippe said, pulling coffee from the bag. "He is still sleeping, I think."

"And Alan?" Nigel asked.

"I do not know. He should be by in a day or two. I expect Gilroy to stop by this evening."

"Tell that blighter I spotted his tail," Nigel said, annoyance in his voice. I glanced at Nigel in surprise.

"He had you followed?"

"Yes and rather poorly." Nigel's lips curled and for a bizarre instant, I saw a cat lashing his tail.

"He is simply protecting everyone." Philippe sniffed the coffee appreciatively.

"If he's our security, we should kill ourselves now."

I looked at Nigel, confused. "What's eating you?"

"Honestly, Rob, we need to go over your choice in men. Gilroy?"

"He is very good," Philippe said. "You need not worry about Gilroy. Besides, Pierre will help."

Nigel sighed then looked at May. "And you?" he asked softly. "Miss?"

May stared at him. "I'm fine," she said in a surprisingly firm voice. "Thank you."

Nigel nodded. "Good."

"May, please bring out the bread," Philippe said. "I can make you some sandwiches."

"We've eaten," I said, well aware of how thin the food supplies were.

"You can have a scone." Philippe handed a small plate to me. "Eat, Robert."

The door opened and Newkirk entered.


	17. Chapter 17

I wasn't surprised to see Nigel with Rob. This man was one of his major players in the lunacy we were planning. I didn't trust Nigel but I trusted Rob. I was still bloody pissed he brought a heterosexual into this but he did have a good point. I was going to have to learn to live with so called normal people sooner or later. That is, if I survived.

"He brought coffee," Philippe said. "Is Perseus all right?"

"He's fine. You had him out this morning."

"He seemed a bit stiff."

He's lazy, there's a difference," I said. I strolled to Rob, casually brushed my shoulder against his. At his smile, my stomach fluttered. God, I was a bloody gel.

"He works hard." Philippe gestured to the pot. "You can make a pot."

I grunted and began puttering in the kitchen. "Why are you here?" I asked Rob.

"Official inspection. Nigel got himself assigned to the Ghetto temporarily."

"How did you do that?" Philippe asked.

"I told General Mueller I didn't want to do it," Nigel said. He rubbed his temples. "Lord, I need an aspirin."

I heard the door open and looked over. "Knew you were here," Gilroy said, strolling in with a satchel. "Can smell toffs and Nazis a mile away. And when you're both..."

"Make that four aspirin," Nigel said. "My headache just tripled."

Rob gave Gilroy a look then pushed a scone at Nigel. I looked at Gilroy as he tossed his satchel onto a table. From the bag, he drew out several guns and papers. "Here," he said to Hogan.

"Dare I ask?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Rob flipped through the papers. "These are real. Are the owners around to protest? And will they cause any grief?"

"These are low level guards. It shouldn't cause any problems."

Nigel took the papers and scanned then. "I heard there were guards missing," he remarked. "It is known."

"These are older ones, not Heider."

Nigel's eyebrow raised. "You know what happened to Heider?"

"This is our home, mate, prison or not. Course I know."

"Considering how sloppy your tail was, I naturally assumed your information gathering skills were equally poor."

I hid a smirk. Pain in the ass, yes, and average as an old boot but this Nigel had bite. I sure didn't trust him but in that moment, I kind of liked him. No one in the Ghetto pushed Gilroy and from the look in his eyes, Gilroy didn't like it. I briefly wondered what was in Gilroy's head. In our meetings, I'd never seen this side. Nigel obviously got under his skin. "Why would I tail you?" Gilroy snapped.

"I haven't the foggiest but don't do it again."

"Did you?" Rob stepped in.

"Do you honestly think a lone Gestapo Colonel would survive a walk in the Ghetto? Plenty of people here would love to kill a Gestapo agent, especially an officer."

"He does have a point," Philippe said.

"I can care for myself," Nigel said. "I hardly need your oversight."

"I am hardly worried about you. In my opinion, skinning some Gestapo Colonel would be a party. But we need your connections, so it's in my best interests to keep you alive."

"All right, you two enough." Robert sounded annoyed. Both Nigel and Gilroy turned to him and Philippe looked at me.

"Is the coffee ready?"

"Not yet." I sat down, picked up a gun. My fingers danced over the smooth surface. Gilroy gave one to Philippe and after a moment, May. She gave a nod and took it a bit awkwardly.

"What about me?" Hogan asked.

"You're a General. I think you can get a gun."

Rob smiled and gave Nigel a look. "Tell them, Nigel."

My stomach seized. "What?" I demanded.

"Over a third of the Ghetto residents are to be killed in the Ghetto," Nigel said. "Anyone over 40, anyone ill or infirm, anyone who serves the Reich better dead than alive."

I glanced at Philippe. Everyone was looking at him. He shrugged.

"I have confidence in Robert. Besides, I will not go out without a fight."

"And who makes the decisions?" Gilroy asked. "Who gets to play God with our lives?"

"Dr. Schmitt and me," Nigel said.

I grabbed Gilroy's arm before he moved. "It's probably the best thing, mate," I hurriedly said. "He can cover for us."

"You're ready to trust this Kraut?"

"He's not a Kraut," Robert said. "And his life is on the line just as much as anyone else's."

"He's not going to be shot and dissected," Gilroy said.

"He'll face worse," I said. "Think about it, Gilroy. Old Nigel here-if he gets caught, he'll be pulled apart by crazed Krauts with rusty pliers."

"Thank you, Newkirk. I didn't know you were so helpful." I glanced over at Nigel's dry tone.

"He's always been helpful." Robert stood up and went to the coffee pot. I watched him then mentally shivered.

_ He's become Robert._ I haven't thought of him as Hogan at all today. I knew I was losing my heart but this fast? _Or did he always have it and I just never paid attention?_

I looked away, towards Philippe. He gazed at me with an odd look in his face. "Lord," Gilroy said in disgust. "Just what exactly happened in this POW camp?"

"Nothing that would interest you." Robert poured cups of coffee and handed them out. "Sit down, everyone. Nigel, Gilroy, curb your tongues and let's talk about how to save ourselves."

"We need a way to move the ones slated for death out of the Ghetto," Nigel said.

"Do we have a ship yet?" Gilroy asked.

"Not in my pocket," Nigel snapped.

I blinked and Robert grabbed Nigel and pulled him aside. I took the chance and poked Gilroy. "What is it?" I demanded. "Lay off."

"He's a stuck up ass," Gilroy growled. "And we're betting our lives on him."

"Take it easy," I said.

Robert and Nigel came over. And we began again.

After a few hours, we split up. Gilroy and I touched base with the other 'officers' and exchanged information. When I returned to the bakery, the trucks were there for unloading.

Robert joined me. We worked almost silently. I whistled a tune and when we finally finished, Robert sighed and wiped his brow. "Do you want me to feed Perseus?"

"He's fed and fine, luv." I kissed him quickly. "Lord, I'm starving." Immediately Robert looked guilty. "Stop that. It's OK for you to eat."

"Come on."

Inside, Philippe scrubbed dishes while soup simmered on the stove. "You two are getting slow. "

"Yeah, Frenchie, Pretty easy to say when all you're doing is cooking," I said.

"Be quiet or you will get no soup." Philippe set three bowls out and ladelled soup. I washed my hands, sat down.

"We need to do something about Nigel and Gilroy," Robert said.

"They're both mules," I sighed. "Don't know what we can do but gag them."

"I have never seen Gilroy so flustered," Philippe said. "Nigel irritates and intrigues him."

Robert's eyes widened and I elbowed him. I tore apart a roll and began eating. "You think Gilroy is interested in Nigel?" I scoffed. 'Old Golroy likes pretty young men."

"Who knows?" Philippe shrugged. "It may not be all bad."

"I don't thinking Nigel is looking," Robert said in an oddly taut voice.

"One should never look for love. It simply bursts onto the scene."

It was actually amusing to see Rob flush and look rather trapped. "We should get some sleep," I said.

Philippe smiled secretively as Robert nodded. In my flat, Robert rubbed his head. "Lord, that's all we need. Think its possible?"

"What?" I asked, pulling over my sweat soaked shirt.

"Gilroy liking Nigel."

"Doubt it. Nigel's not pretty enough for Gilroy." I stripped, planning on a hasty shower. Sleeping filthy was just nasty no matter what.

"We don't need any more problems." Rob touched my arm. "Peter, I'm going to have to start staying in town, in my hotel."

I nodded. "I expected it." I masked the worry and fear in my stomach.

"I don't want to," he said, licking his lips. "Peter, I don't want to leave you here."

"We don't have much choice." I reached out, gripped his shoulder. "Gov, I've lived here for a long time before you came. I can handle the Ghetto. 'Sides, I can slip out to see you."

"And risk the Krauts catching you? You already have one scar across your shoulder. Next time, they hamstring you."

I shrugged. I knew he figured it out when we first told him about what happened to escapees. "Little late to be worry about safety," I said.

"If this doesn't work," he started.

"Then you take off and live a good life."

His gaze hardened but then he gave a gusty sigh. "I'm not leaving without you."

"I bloody 'ope not. But you could live without me." He hugged me tight, smelling of aftershave and sweat. I kissed him, ran my palm over his cheek. "I need a shower," I said. "So I can smell like a lavender patch again."

"Where did Philippe get all the lavender soap and shampoo?" Hogan asked.

"Not sure. He had a couple boxes ." I let him go, headed for the bathroom. As I showered, I heard Rob puttering around. I showered fast. You do learn something in the military and in a POW camp. When I emerged, Rob handed me a towel. As I dried off and brushed my teeth, he showered.

We spent the next hour or so simply saying good bye. As we curled up to sleep, Rob held me tight. "Relax," I muttered. "No use worrying."


End file.
